Bloodlust
by lady of scarlet
Summary: JJReid. The team is called out to investigate a string of seemingly unrelated murders in North Dakota, but their beloved Communications Liaison finds herself in the hands of a deranged killer. Case Fic, angst, violence, torture, language, dark.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Bloodlust  
**Author:** Scarlet  
**Rating:** FRM (violence, language, angst, all that fun stuff)  
**Summary:** The team pursues a suspected serial killer in North Dakota. The case seems harmless until one of their own falls victim to the killer's deadly obsession.  
**Ship:** JJ/Reid  
**Story Disclaimer:** No copyright infringement intended. I don't own the characters or the show and no profit is being made from this.  
**A/N:** For this story I conveniently ignored Big Game and Revelations because, I mean really, your agents can only get kidnapped so many times before you need to start questioning the safety of your operations. Also, this can be read as its own series but it does reference the events of "The Kiss" (unofficial prequel) which can be found at my profile page, if you should care to read that first. Enjoy, and let me know what you think.

"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it."- Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)

Ten days.

It had been ten days, almost to the hour--not that she was keeping track--since their first kiss in the elevator.

She still didn't know how it happened.

This yearning, this overwhelming passion had just taken over her until she was no longer in control of her actions.

Watching Spencer sit across from her in his dangerously neat desk, stealing glimpses when he thought she wasn't looking, or blushing and stumbling over his words when she caught him off guard with a friendly gesture or a light touch, would keep her occupied with thoughts of his perfect lips and shy smile for days on end.

It was only inevitable really that she should need to know what those lips tasted like against her own. It wasn't as though it had meant anything. Certainly an office romance was out of the question. Forbidden even, but just the word _forbidden_ made it all that much sweeter.

No. It was wrong. It was nothing.

She poised her hands determinedly over her keyboard in a desperate attempt to focus on her work.

Her job was nothing to take lightly. The last board meeting of the day was only minutesaway.

Spencer was about thirteen feet away. Thirteen feet... that was precariously close.

Maybe she should move her desk. Maybe she should just get Spencer to help her move her desk. It was pretty heavy after all; it would take two of them. Damn it.

She groaned to herself, placing her fingers on the bridge of her nose for no real reason other than moral support.

He wasn't even paying attention, no doubt swimming around in that endless ocean of information inside his head again.

This unnatural lack of control had _her _head spinning. She always had control. She _was _in control.

She quietly reassured herself that nothing had changed. Maybe she was just bored with the dating market and had needed a little excitement. Yes. That was absolutely her problem.

She would just give Spencer up, like a good little employee and they would go back to their platonic friendship. Purely platonic.

She had been weak, that was all, and sure that one little kiss had perhaps opened a Pandora's Box of kisses, and the storage closet down the hall had been visited considerably more often as of late, but all of that meant nothing.

It was time to terminate the relationship, or lack-there-of. She couldn't allow it to get in the way of her --their-- job. That was it. Done. Settled.

"J.J, you ready?"

She jumped slightly when Spencer lightly touched her shoulder, a stack of papers balancing on one arm, and concern evident in his voice.

And just like that she was putty in his beautiful, talented hands.

She withdrew her fingers from the bridge of her nose, realizing he probably thought she had a headache, and couldn't stop from smiling at the sight of him as she quickly gathered her things and shut her computer down for the night.

They walked silently together toward the boardroom, ready to be debriefed on a case.

Spencer was seemingly lost in thought, and J.J, well, she was just lost.

She berated herself for her pitiful resolve and all but gave up hope on keeping her job secure, since she couldn't even manage to keep Spencer out of her head.

What if it wasn't a debriefing after all? She had only assumed. What if they were caught? Maybe those joint coffee breaks hadn't gone unnoticed after all. _Oh God_.

J.J was about to truly panic by the time they stepped into the boardroom and took their respective seats on opposite sides of the long mahogany table.

She realized though, that Spencer didn't look the slightest bit concerned about their impending doom. Had she forgotten something?

Morgan was the last to enter, complete with both hands full of coffee, which he quickly distributed.

A few minutes later, once everyone was settled in, Gideon moved to the head of the table in front of the whiteboard and removed a folder from his leather briefcase.

It was very similar to the folder that had been delivered to her desk this morning, and was in fact still on her desk, unread. Maybe she _had _forgotten something.

She calmed slightly, though her initial panic had gone entirely unnoticed by everyone but herself, despite the fact that she had come somewhat under-prepared.

That, she could handle.

If anyone could pull off a meeting without any preparation, it was her. It was, after all, her job to look like she had all the answers while allowing others to see only exactly what she wanted them to.

"Now I know we've all had some long nights this week after the Gillespie Case," Hotch started, moving to stand by Gideon, "but as you all know, the bad guys don't take always take weekends off. Unfortunately, neither do we. This case just came in from Williston, North Dakota. A string of seemingly random murders and disappearances. It might be nothing, but apparently the locals are beginning to think otherwise."

"Martina Moore, 26, prostitute," Gideon stated as he stuck her picture on the whiteboard and scrawled her name underneath it with the efficiency and ease of a man who had been doing it for far too long. "Found in the Missouri River by a tourist. Cause of death is indeterminable at this point. She had been in the water for at least three weeks judging by the swelling. That was two months ago."

He posted the next picture to the board.

"Amanda Wright, 17, high school student. Found twenty days ago, approximately two miles downstream from where Martina's body was discovered." The group listened intently, making mental notes as Gideon continued, honouring each photograph with quiet contemplation.

"Nicole Lasica, 15, high school student. Found two weeks and three days ago in a ditch along the main highway. C.O.D for both girls was exsanguination; however Nicole also suffered from second degree burns to her arms and legs. Finally," Gideon removed the last picture from his folder and added it to the makeshift-memorial that their drawing board had become, "Deanna Artym, 31, intern at the District Attorney's office and single mother of two. She missed work Wednesday morning and hasn't been heard from since, so time is of the essence in this case."

Gideon returned the folder to his briefcase and took his seat at the table, letting Aaron take the floor.

J.J couldn't help but be concerned by the obvious lack of sleep Gideon had been getting since their last case. His normally gentle features seemed wracked with age and despair.

"What makes the police think they're related? The age spectrum is pretty broad," interjected Morgan contemplatively, as he sprawled across his chair in that masterful way that only he seemed capable of.

"Not to mention their employment," Emily added.

"The local papers have been featuring the idea of a serial killer as front page news since Nicole Lasica was found. It's gotten the city a little paranoid. We hope to locate the missing woman as soon as possible and put an end to suspicion before the police force loses control of the populace."

"Nothing spreads faster than paranoia," Gideon conceded. "However, we still can't rule out the possibility that the papers are right. Until we have solid evidence against it, this case is to be treated with the same validity as any other. Supposing we did have a killer on our hands, what would our profile be?"

Spencer shifted in his seat. "Well, considering the victimology, the Unsub is most likely to be a male. Caucasian. Since it's less likely for serial killers to prey on those older than themselves, I'd say he would have to be in his thirties at least."

"Was there any evidence of sexual assault?" J.J questioned.

"Not as far as the medical examiners could tell," Hotch answered, seeming somewhat pleased at her involvement. He knew she had been wanting to prove herself as more than a PR agent for some time now, even though he was sure everyone already considered her part of the profiling team.

"He sure has a preference for blondes though," Emily noted, glancing into the folder on her lap.

"So he finds pretty blondes, bleeds them to death then disposes of their bodies. Somehow this doesn't sound all that unique. And what about the burn marks on the third victim?" Morgan's scepticism was apparent.

"Evolution?" Spencer suggested.

"Or more than one Unsub," J.J proposed.

Aaron Hotchner looked at his watch then back at his team.

Deciding to go easy on them after such a long week, he held up his hand to cease their conversation.

"Okay everyone, let's finish this tomorrow on the plane, we leave at eight thirty."

He didn't bother telling them to get a good night's sleep. He knew that's all they wanted to do anyway and he had faith in their determination.

The team packed up their things quickly and mumbled goodbyes to one another. Hotch, Morgan and Emily shuffled out of the board room with J.J and Reid close behind leaving Gideon to return his photos to their rightful place in his leather briefcase, as was his custom after a debriefing.

Hotch moved in the direction of his office, presumably to gather his things, while Morgan made his way toward the stairs, as always being conscious of his physique.

Emily, Reid and J.J packed themselves into the elevator.

The team still had their minds wrapped around the new case, but their enthusiasm paled compared to their exhaustion.

The three on the elevator were too tired to engage in small talk, so the descent to the parking lot was silent except for the slow rhythm of their breathing, a sound that was only noted and accounted for by Spencer's overactive brain.

Spencer's arm accidentally brushed J.J's for a moment and he noticed her breath increase slightly.

He smiled to himself, revelling in the thought that perhaps, if only on a physiological level, J.J shared the same affection for him that he felt for her.

* * *

She finally lost consciousness.

It had been the third dose of electricity that did it.

She was strong. Not like the others.

Older too. Probably thought she had something to live for.

He brushed a stray hair out of her face, his movements tender.

They were always so beautiful when they slept.

She wasn't dead, and he was glad. Their fun had only just begun after all. But when she woke up, it would be for the last time.

He felt the excitement course through his veins, just as he imagined the electricity had coursed through hers.

"What are you waiting for my love?" Constance came up behind him, trailing her hands up and down his arms. Her voice was smooth and sultry, like vodka and arsenic, the perfect combination to bring him to his knees.

"I want her to be awake," he replied.

She laughed, deep and low, moving to play with Sleeping Beauty's lovely blonde hair.

"You always were an exhibitionist baby, but don't waste too much time. We have work to do." Her every movement was sensual, enticing. He could never deny her anything she asked, and he knew _she_ knew this. Sometimes it was as though he was her puppet, but _God_, he thought, _it was worth it_. "Have to fix you up baby, make you strong again," she continued, "You want that don't you? To be with me forever?"

"Forever," he answered. She smiled, but doubt entered his mind. "What if this one doesn't work?"

"It will."

She seemed sure, but in the dark, dank setting he couldn't seem to share her enthusiasm.

Suddenly he was fearful and desperate. Maybe Constance was right, he shouldn't waste any time... He looked to Constance, who was now leaning her sinfully elegant body against a set of bars that comprised the door of the old musty cellar.

She was watching him, waiting.

She nodded her approval.

He moved closer to Sleeping Beauty and took his grandfather's cattle prod off the table, replacing it with a newly-sharpened kitchen knife; the same one his mother used to use when she was making dinner.

He smiled at the memory of her as he returned to his Sleeping Beauty, and unbound her wrists for better access.

He gently ran the edge of the knife over the soft skin of her arm, weaving around the remaining evidence of their little game--a prong shaped burn.

Of course the cattle prod itself wasn't strong enough for his tastes, but he fixed that. A wire here, a switch there, a little extra voltage and they'd been begging in no time.

He loved it when they begged. But no time for that now.

He pressed the knife slightly harder, just enough to leave a little trail of blood behind.

He brought the limp wrist to his lips and ran his tongue along the scarlet trail, looking up as he did so, to see Constance watching him.

She licked her lips seductively.

Sleeping Beauty stirred. _Perfect_.

She was in no condition to struggle, though he wouldn't mind if she did.

He drew the blade up once more and made a quick incision horizontally across her wrist, deep enough that the blood began to rush out.

His bloodlust increased to a breathtaking rate as he savoured the warm metallic taste of it, his body pulsing with expectation.

Constance was suddenly beside him, though he hadn't noticed her move, running her fingers through his hair, whispering encouragements, "Good baby... Son of Darkness... My love...There you go...For me... For us..."


	2. Chapter 2

The call came moments after the team landed at Slouinfield National Airport.

Gideon reached into his jacket pocket, anticipating the news he was about to receive.

He had been a profiler for years; he knew Deanna's chances of survival lessened with every moment that past.

It was day four of her disappearance. The average window of survival for victims of abduction was only three hours.

He brought the phone to his ear.

The rest of the team stopped on the tarmac and waited, hoping their fears would not be realized.

"Okay. Yes, we're on our way." He closed his cell phone and returned it to his pocket, a pained look on his face. "Deanna's body was just found."

The team was silent for a moment.

"Where?" Hotch asked.

"Near the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. A jogger found her body propped up on a street bench."

"Okay everyone, we've got a killer to find."

Hotch wasted no time reflecting, instead opting for the impersonal approach that always seemed to get the team moving.

"Agent Gideon and I will go to the crime scene. Agent Reid, Agent Morgan, go to Deanna Artym's home, see if you can catch anything the police didn't."

The boys nodded.

"Agents Prentiss and Jareau, head over to the station, find out what you can and try to hold off the press; Word about this is likely to get out fast, the reporters will be swarming."

Hotch looked at his watch, it was quarter to eleven already. "We'll reconvene back at the hotel at four thirty."

The team split up and headed toward the SUV's already waiting for them at the end of the tarmac.

* * *

Morgan and Reid arrived at the Artym household at about eleven thirty.

The little suburban home was covered in crime scene tape, and looked dull and lifeless without its occupants.

They crossed the tape barriers and began their search with Officer Doughty, a short muscular man, as their police escort.

The inside of the house seemed perfectly normal, with nothing unusual out of place. Children's shoes were scattered around the back door, and the adjacent laundry room had long ago reached its dirty clothing capacity.

The three split up to examine the doors and windows, running into each other again in the kitchen.

"All of the windows are locked except the bathroom," Officer Doughty stated, "it's too small to allow entrance though."

Morgan leaned against the counter, deep in thought. "There's no evidence of forced entry on the doors either."

"So she let her attacker in?" Spencer considered.

"When her kids came home from school Wednesday afternoon they noticed the door was open," Officer Doughty started, his voice deep and gravely. "Ms. Artym was supposed to go into work that morning after they left, but only until noon. They expected her to be home, so when she wasn't the oldest boy went to a neighbour and a short while after we were called in. A routine inspection was done on the house, but nothing was found. Looked like she left in a hurry though."

"Why is that?" Morgan asked.

"Left a half-made sandwich on the counter with an open jar of peanut butter, and didn't close the door behind her. That's the only reason the scene looked suspicious."

Morgan straightened as he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket, and quickly retrieved it, "Agent Morgan."

"Hi there sugar," came Garcia's voice from the other end.

"What do you got for me baby girl?" he asked, smiling into the phone.

"Other than a charming personality and unsurpassed beauty?" she questioned in mock innocence.

"Let me rephrase, what do you know that I don't already know?"

"Mmm, well played," she replied appreciatively.

"Thank you darling."

"Well, I looked into past missing persons reports like Gideon asked," she began, and Morgan could hear the sound of her typing, "but he didn't answer his phone when I tried him. And let me tell you, there is no shortage of missing persons in North Dakota."

"Anything matching our Unsub?"

"Possibly-- I didn't have much to go on so I narrowed it down to blondes in the Williston County area. In the last ten years seven women have been reported missing, all blondes, all unsolved cases and only four of the bodies were ever found."

"Did you go back any further?"

"I sure did, kitten. First reported female abduction matching the description was in 1903, however I kinda figured that was irrelevant since, you know, the guy would likely be dead by now, so I searched the last 50 years."

"And?"

"Everything was pretty standard until about 1985, when a string of blonde female victims started showing up. Some unsolved homicides, some just missing person's reports. Most of them were about a year apart, some of them more."

"And the police never saw it as anything suspicious?"

"Apparently not, though there was a significant amount of press coverage on some of the more prominent victims. Over half were prostitutes though, so I suppose they kind of fell through the cracks of the system. Anyway, I am sending the information to Gideon right now. Need anything else, sweetheart?"

"Nah baby doll, we don't have a whole lot to go on right now, but I'll call you if we get any leads."

"Can't wait."

He clicked the phone shut and turned back to Reid and Officer Doughty. "Garcia's sending some case information to Gideon, turns out we might have a long-term homicide pattern."

"At least we'll have more to go on," Reid added optimistically. "No suspects and no related evidence--even the most vigilant criminal has to make a mistake sometime."

Morgan couldn't stay in the depressingly empty home any longer. "There's nothing in here. Let's take a look outside."

Spencer and Derek headed for the backyard while Officer Doughty made a call in the kitchen.

They moved slowly, taking in their surroundings and storing each detail neatly in their minds.

The yard was surprisingly well kept considering the state of the house itself. Several trees lined the property, and the space behind the three-foot picket fence was rich with growth and backed on to the beginnings of a park.

Finding nothing in the yard after thorough inspection, they turned to leave.

Morgan stopped abruptly, Spencer nearly walking into him.

"What is it?" Spencer whispered.

"See that glass patio door? If you stand the right way you can see almost the whole first floor."

"You think he cased the house?" The question was rhetorical.

"I woulda. He could get a pretty good idea of Deanna's life style, monitor their schedule and figure out how to get access without leaving a trace."

"That would suggest him to be an organized killer," Spencer concluded. "He would have to do it without being seen though. The trees here have at least ten feet between them, he wouldn't be concealed."

"You're right. He would have to be farther back, maybe in the over-growth behind the fence."

The two agents walked to the fence, through the little gate leading out and then worked their way toward a position where they could clearly see through the glass door.

They halted when they came to a large pile of cigarette butts on the ground.

Morgan stood directly behind them and looked up towards the house.

He could see inside perfectly. "Bingo."

Spencer knelt on the ground, just close enough to view but not jeopardize the newly discovered evidence.

Surveying the immediate area he noticed what appeared to be dried blood by the stem of a particularly unpleasant looking weed.

He pointed to it silently and Morgan removed some collection bags from his pocket.

"I think we just found our evidence," Spencer declared.

Morgan grinned. "Let's get this to the lab and track down our Unsub."

* * *

As Hotch and Gideon rounded the corner, heading toward the crime scene, they were surprised to find that it was not yet flooded with reporters. Apparently the news got to them first.

A few residents of nearby homes were watching with curiosity from behind the yellow tape.

The scene was dreary. The sun had only just begun the task of dismissing the morning fog even though it was already quarter after eleven.

Hotch parked behind one of the cop cars lining the road, and, without speaking, the two got out of the car, leaving their briefcases behind.

They walked past the crime scene tape and flashed their badges to the young officer trying to tame the ever-growing crowd.

A senior officer greeted them as they approached, offering his hand which was respectfully accepted by Hotch as Gideon walked on toward the black body bag that lay on the cold, damp earth below a blood stained park bench.

Gideon eyed the bench suspiciously.

Though there _was_ blood on the bench, it was really more of a smudge than anything else. She had obviously not been killed here.

Hotch walked up behind Gideon, allowing the man a few feet of space in which to contemplate.

An older officer approached the agents with something akin to awe and jealousy. "Jogger found her a couple hours ago, just sitting on that bench. She looks pretty bad, I reckon. All cut-up like. You boys think we got ourselves a serial killer?"

"I'm afraid it's too early to say, sir," Gideon replied with a soft smile.

"Do you mind if we take a look at the body?" Hotch requested.

"Knock yourselves out." He motioned to the black bag as he turned and walked toward another officer.

Hotch knelt and brought the zipper down just past her face, his back shielding her from prying eyes. "It's definitely her."

Gideon joined him. Hotch pulled the zipper down as far as it would go and quickly gloved his hands. She looked sickly pale.

He lifted her right arm and examined the deep cut along her wrist-- horizontal, not enough to do serious damage. "He's either an amateur or he just wanted to prolong her death."

"What does that look like to you?" Gideon asked, pointing to the two dark marks on her forearm.

"Could be a burn."

"Just like Nicole Lasica had on her arms and legs."

"C.O.D was almost certainly exsanguination."

"Looks like we found a pattern." Gideon's voice became concerned but thoughtful, "He used to try and hide his victims, conceal his crimes, now he puts them on display."

"Maybe he's getting bolder," Hotch suggested.

"Or more desperate." Gideon turned Deanna's other arm over and took note of the cuts and bruising there. "He's spending more time with his victims yet taking less time between them."

"Judging by the rapid pace of his evolution, he could strike again within days. Perhaps he's becoming less satisfied with his kills."

Hotch stood up as he noticed a flash come from behind him.

The first of the vultures had arrived.

He motioned to Gideon, who was already zipping up the body bag. "Let's see what the autopsy report says, and then we'll have a better idea of what we're dealing with."

Gideon pulled himself up, and the two began their journey back to the car, past the crowd of frenzied reporters and bystanders.

* * *

Emily relaxed into the couch in the waiting room, staring up at the solid oak doors that J.J had gone through over two hours ago.

After Emily had dug around the police station for a significant period of time, checking through files and chatting with the officers who had worked the cases, she found that she had reached a stand-still.

Out of sheer boredom had she finally given up pestering the police, and taken a seat in the waiting room to wait for J.J.

Surely she should have been back by now, a press conference could logically only take so long.

After the body of Deanna Artym had been found this morning, the reporters had started swarming in with cameras and microphones. She didn't know how J.J could handle them all at once like that.

They didn't even have any conclusive evidence on the case to present the press with, so she knew all J.J could do was cleverly dodge questions the entire time.

Even though Emily was fairly new to the Bureau, she learned quickly to have faith in J.J's ability to hold her own.

If anybody could handle the scavengers, it was her.

Emily identified with J.J more than her other team mates, if only because they shared the same fondness for self-control, but she knew she wouldn't be able to handle any more than ten minutes in a room full of loud, obnoxious reporters.

She crossed her legs and placed a folder on her lap, one of many she had gotten copies of from the station.

There seemed to be no shortage of victims these days.

After the call she had received from Garcia thirty minutes ago, Emily had managed to round up a daunting pile of potentially-related missing persons reports.

After another twenty minutes, four rejected folders and a stack of other potentials, J.J came through the oak doors.

Her relief at finally being on the quiet side of the doors was tangible in her body language.

She dropped down next to Emily, "Thank god that's over. Did you find anything?"

"Just a never ending pile of missing persons in the Williston County area. Garcia dug them up for me. But it looks like the boys were more successful." There's a sentence she never thought she'd say. "They may have secured some DNA evidence on our Unsub. They're running it through North Dakota's criminal database right now. May just be all we need to crack this one."

"Let's hope so." J.J looked completely worn out.

Emily started to feel the awkward silence kicking in. "So, pretty tough crowd in there hey?"

"You think I can't handle it?" J.J was suddenly on the defensive and Emily wasn't sure how she had set her off so fast.

"No. No, I- I just thought--" She had never been very good with small talk, or the whole 'making friends' thing.

J.J sighed, calming down a bit, "It's okay. I'm sorry, just a little on edge right now."

Emily nodded and opted to change the subject. "So, Reid and Morgan are on their way down here to meet up with us--"

"Oh?" J.J interrupted, suddenly and visibly brightening.

"…Yeah… Then we can go through the rest of these case files."

Agent Prentiss had no idea where Jennifer's sudden burst of energy had come from, but imagined she was just happy to have returned from hell relatively unscathed.

"So what do we do now?"

Prentiss solemnly handed J.J a case file.

* * *

Constance sat on the edge of the kitchen counter watching him.

He seethed in anger and grabbed a glass off of the worn table, throwing it fiercely against the wall next to her, and just because she didn't flinch, he threw the empty flower vase too.

Now his kitchen floor was covered in shards of his fury, just as he figured it ought to be.

Suddenly a fit of coughing over took him and he dropped to his knees in defeat.

"You said it would work!" he accused between ragged breaths.

The ancient yellow-brown wallpaper seemed to mock him with its randomly flowing pattern. The more he saw it, the more he hated it.

He pulled himself up off the dirty floor with the agility of a man half his age and lunged for the wall nearest to him, ripping and tearing at the wicked pattern that defied him so.

The wallpaper was more resilient than he had expected--more so than himself, perhaps. He accomplished little more than creating a fist-sized hole in the wall, which one could scarcely notice when presented with the grotesque, unkempt appearance of the rest of the home.

The old house was falling apart from the inside, out--just like his body.

It was not until he had finally relinquished his temper-tantrum and fallen back against the wall, head in his hands, that Constance rose from her perch on the counter.

She crawled impossibly close to him, taking no precautions against the glass that littered the floor on which she now knelt.

He refused to look up at her, ashamed of his emotional outburst, though it was not unfamiliar to him.

She moved even closer, until thick strands of her long golden hair draped over him. She shushed him and whispered in his ear, rubbing his back tenderly, "…Too old baby, she was just too old, we should have known. It'll be just fine love, trust me… We'll get another one. Younger. Full of life and potential... Okay baby? Trust me?"

He nodded into his hands.

"There's a good boy, we'll do it right this time, I promise."

He raised his head slowly, unable to resist the gentle assurance in her voice.

She was right. Of course she was right. How could he have doubted her?

He brought one hand up to her face and she grasped it in her own, holding his hand to her cheek before gracing it with a kiss and releasing it. He could never fully believe how beautiful she was.

The sunlight that snuck past the brown curtains framed her delicate face and glistened on her blonde hair, giving her an ethereal glow. She looked like an angel. His angel.

Almost silently she confided, "I know just the one we need."


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

They had been sitting outside of the house for the better part of an hour.

His anticipation was rapidly building. This would be it. She would be the one, he just knew it.

It was so simple; he couldn't believe he didn't think of her before.

He looked to Constance, who was sitting perfectly still in the passenger seat, ignoring his unspoken pleas.

He had to get out of the car... Now, it had to be now. She would be sleeping fitfully in her bed; waiting for him to come-- he could feel her in his blood.

His fingers drummed restlessly on the worn steering wheel and he sighed audibly to get Constance's attention.

Without turning she stated, "It's not even twelve thirty yet."

He didn't care anymore, couldn't stand to wait any longer.

She seemed to read his mind, like she always did, and finally turned toward him, her voice resigned like that of a parent at long last giving in to the demands of a determined child, "Fine."

Not waiting for Constance to change her mind, he jumped quietly out the car, grabbing his zip-locked, chloroform-soaked rag as he went.

The street was dead silent.

Not even the night air dared to rustle the trees.

His entire body strummed with need and excitement as he carefully approached the small, burgundy coloured bungalow.

He couldn't see any lights on inside. Even so, he was semi-aware that this rash course of action could prove unfavourable. He had no prep-time.

Then again, time seemed to be more and more elusive to him lately, but none of that mattered now.

This lovely angel would be his ticket out of hell.

He stopped when he reached the front door, listening as best he could with his heart pounding out of his chest.

He knew there was no alarm system in the home--at least, not as of three weeks ago when he first visited. He smiled to himself, suddenly remembering one other piece of information he had gained the last time he was here: the beautiful, busy young mother had been kind enough share with him the whereabouts of the spare key.

Things just couldn't get any easier.

He reached up to the ledge above the door and, sure enough, his fingers came into contact with providence.

Slipping the key in the lock with a steady hand, he turned it until at last he heard a click, and slowly pushed the door open.

He froze in his tracks as he saw the beautiful young mother he had been thinking about only moments before, standing just two meters away from him.

Her shock was mirrored by his own and neither moved until the glass of red wine that had slipped from her fear-paralysed hand had contacted the floor with a deafening crash.

His brain went into a sudden overload as he hastily calculated his options.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He didn't even think to bring a weapon with him, he had been so sure that everyone in the house was asleep, but he immediately determined that a physical attack would have to be launched.

Just as he stepped forward into her home, and she backed away from him, he heard the roar of a motor coming up the driveway, accompanied by her ear-splitting scream that effectively shattered the formerly pervading silence.

With no more than a moment's hesitation, he dashed back out the door, heart threatening to explode in his chest, and did not stop until he was certain he was not being followed.

Only after he collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for breath, did he realise that although he had been forced to leave his treasure behind, he still held the solid metal key to destiny in his hand.

* * *

After a restless three hours of sleep, Aaron Hotchner found himself rudely awakened by the blare of his cell phone going off on the bedside table.

The sudden noise jolted him awake, his heart racing before he could finally make his way through his sleep-clouded mind enough to reach over and answer it.

Gideon stirred in the bed next to his, sitting up and watching him questioningly as he spoke to the police officer on the other end.

Their current hotel was somewhat less than appealing, with stained carpets and seventies decor, but on short notice it was to be expected-- and for the BAU, it was almost always short notice.

Hotch sighed, clicking his phone shut, and began to redress quickly.

He had fallen asleep in his work shirt anyway, so he didn't have much changing to do.

Gideon was already up and dressed before he had to mention any specifics.

"There's been an attempted break-in, could be our guy," Hotch noted, pulling on a clean pair of socks. "He used a key."

With that, the two agents left to deliver the one AM wake-up call.

* * *

When the team arrived at Jane Rowland's home, on the outskirts of town, there were already two cop cars sitting quietly in the long gravel driveway.

The house itself was small but it was at least two acres from the nearest neighbour. It would not be easy to access help if needed.

She was lucky to have made it.

The team approached the now fully lit home with only the slightest residue of exhaustion in their movements.

They were immediately met by one of the officers and led to the almost-victim, and another man sitting across from her, in the living room.

It was then apparent why the police had thought to call them regarding the case; she had an uncanny resemblance to the other victims.

That, coupled with the fact that the intruder obviously knew where the spare key was kept, suggested that he had already been watching her and casing the house.

Jane looked terrified and tired. They couldn't blame her.

Gideon approached her first, the rest of the team following close behind. "Ma'am, I'm Agent Gideon and these are Agents Morgan, Hotchner, Prentiss, Reid and Jareau." He began, introducing each agent with a gesture of his hand, "We're with the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the F.B.I... Do you mind if we ask you some questions?"

The brown-haired man who had been sitting across from her now rose to put a calming hand on her shoulder. "She already gave the police a statement."

"We understand," Hotch interjected in his very best soothing-voice, "we just want to make sure that we get all of the facts straight so we can ensure your safety, Ms. Rowland."

"Do you live here as well Mr. Petruic?" Reid questioned the brown-haired man, Jane Rowland's current boyfriend, he presumed.

They weren't given much information over the phone but since the man appeared to be the only other civilian in the home, his identity could be easily assumed.

"No," Jane answered for him, "it's just my daughter Peigan and I. Mike was just coming to visit."

"Where is your daughter now Ms. Rowland?" questioned Gideon.

The woman looked slightly confused by the sudden and unwanted onslaught of more questions.

"She's staying at my mother's tonight." Concern suddenly showed on her face. "She's okay right? I mean you don't think she would be targeted?"

"I'm sure she's just fine Ms. Rowland," came Hotch's somewhat impersonal answer as he moved right on to his next question. "So you said he entered through the backdoor, with a key, is that correct?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so-- I watched the lock turn. At first I thought it was Mike, but then some strange man came into my house. If Mike hadn't arrived when he did, I don't know what I would have done."

"Can you describe him at all?" Morgan inquired.

"It-It was dark in the kitchen, I couldn't really see. He was tall though, maybe five-ten, and he looked strong. I just..." she paused, looking unsure.

"It's okay. Even if it doesn't make sense right now it can still be useful," Morgan encouraged.

"I don't know, he just seemed... familiar, you know? Like I had seen him before or something, but I just can't remember. I didn't even get a good look at the guy. It was so dark and I was so surprised." She sighed with frustration.

Gideon knew the chances of the intruder being their guy was fifty-fifty at this point, but they really didn't have anything better to go on.

Besides, if it was their Unsub, they had a serious problem.

The ever-increasing pace of his murders was daunting to say the least.

Deanna Artym's body had only been found this morning. The Unsub's obsessive personality seemed to be evolving in to an obsessive-compulsive one.

If he had chosen Jane to be his next victim then he would certainly be on his way back to retrieve her as soon as he was given the opportunity.

First things first, Jane Rowland had to be put under immediate protection.

Gideon didn't think they would get much more from her tonight.

She was obviously exhausted and shaken, and he had complete faith in the abilities of the local police to take her statement.

The clock on the wall behind Jane declared it to be two o'clock and Gideon could feel the energy of his team dwindling. "Ms. Rowland, is there somewhere you could stay for a few days, until we get things sorted out?"

"You think I'm still in danger?"

"It's just a precaution ma'am."

She nodded her consent and Hotch was already planning a police escort for her.

By the time the house had settled again, and Jane had been sent on her way with not one, but two cops to keep watch over her, it was twenty after three and all present were well beyond their initial tiredness and some had even gotten their second wind.

The intruder would not be back tonight, Hotch was certain.

He may be impulsive but he wasn't stupid. Nonetheless, the team agreed they would need a plan for the following night.

If the guy couldn't last an entire day without blood on his hands, he was sure to return in no time.

The agents sat around Jane Rowland's coffee table, the last to leave.

J.J listened to them conspire in hushed tones, as though any excess noise would awaken the empty home.

As the team discussed the case she found herself following the conversation better than usual. She had worked hard to reach the point she was at in the team; Harder than anyone cared to notice.

Still though, she always held self-doubt in the back of her mind as to her worthiness. She had seriously thought about becoming a profiler for a while, but never had the courage to put herself out there like that, in front of her teammates.

The media and flocks of aggressive reporters that she dealt with daily were an entirely different story. She didn't care about their opinions.

She knew though that she had allowed herself to get far too close to the people now sitting around the table with her. They had become her second family. If she were to disappoint them, she would be crushed.

Despite her abundance of self control and confidence, she still found herself striving for their approval and respect. Truth be told, she didn't know what she would do without them in her life.

The hushed conversation eventually turned to a plan of action.

They knew their timeframe was minimal at this point.

If they were going to take this creep down, they had to act fast. The only problem was that Jane was no longer here for him to pursue.

Morgan joked that they should find someone to take her place, or just dress Reid up in a blonde wig, which Reid vehemently protested.

Though the comment was born of exhaustion and humour, J.J saw hidden potential in it.

"I'll do it," she declared.

"Do what?" asked Morgan, confused.

"Take her place."

"Out of the question," Hotch replied, intending to end that thread of conversation but was foiled by J.J's sudden determination to prove herself.

"Why not? We're the same height and stature; we even have the same hair style. As long as he didn't see my face he couldn't even tell the difference."

"I said no J.J." Hotch was not pleased by this turn of events.

"What other option do we have at this point?"

"We can find someone else."

"On such short notice?" she was skeptical. "Besides, I know the case-- I'm more qualified than anyone else we could find to do this."

"I'm not putting you in danger J.J, it's not a debate."

"Hotch, she has a point. It's not like she would be alone, we would be right outside the whole time; the bastard wouldn't even make it to the front door," Morgan added passionately, and J.J grinned, pleased to have someone on her side.

"We can't let any more innocent women die, not when we have an opportunity like this," Emily expressed. "Even if he doesn't show, it's worth a shot."

Spencer knew J.J was more than capable, but did not like the idea of her being the bait in a homicide investigation. Still, his over-logical brain knew it made sense.

"She's right, Hotch," Gideon began, approaching the subject with care, "we don't have any other choices right now."

Hotch sighed, obviously outnumbered.

On any other team his vote would veto the rest, but here, it was useless to argue.

They would keep her safe after all, and she really was the best candidate...

"Okay."


	4. Chapter 4

He had arrived earlier in the day, intent on returning his patience back to its previous level. Last night was a rash and unnecessary mistake; a horrible glaring error that had nearly cost him everything.

Despite the passionate disregard he had displayed, he was determined now more than ever to avoid another unwanted encounter.

The Newspaper this morning had shocked him out of his reverie.

It had been months since he last picked up one of the papers regularly delivered to his front step, instead allowing them to accumulate in an ever growing mass of rotting words and misguided opinions.

It was entirely accidental that he happened to glance at the front page of the newest arrival. 

_The FBI had come to town_.

No wonder everyone was in such a panic lately, excessive police presence was making them think there was some monster on the loose, lurking around every corner.

He knew they would be foolish enough to believe the stories, but never did he imagine _his_ little hobby could attract so much attention. But it was the unfortunate truth; they had come for him.

Never one to play the prey in a game of cat and mouse, he immediately determined it necessary to turn the table on the feds.

And so he waited, crouched out of sight just down the block from the Rowland household.

Initially he had intended simply to wait until the moment was right and take the girl, but now the tides had shifted.

Instead of watching the tiny home, for the past five hours he had been watching _them_.

They had the audacity to show up in the middle of the day in a shamefully obvious attempt to fool him into revealing himself.

He had to give them some credit though; had he not been watching and waiting so intently for the majority of the day, he may not have noticed them inconspicuously drift and settle into the woodwork of the quiet, secluded community.

Nevertheless, he was far too clever to have been deceived.

Out of sheer spite he had even left them a little surprise in the dark SUV they had left unoccupied a block away.

That would certainly prove amusing and hopefully save him a little time.

Behind the house three FBI Agents, two men and one woman, were waiting patiently in a black van. Two boys were positioned in another SUV across the street, with tinted windows.

They were the only direct threat to his position, which was only about a yard away, but they hadn't noticed him yet. Well, the young one was not exactly threatening, however, he assumed, the boy must have very good aim to have made the FBI.

Now all he had to do was wait them out.

* * *

Spencer and Derek had been sitting silently in the car for the last half hour, after exhausting all possible conversational topics.

Now they had resorted to vicariously watching infomercials. That is, they watched J.J watch infomercials through the large bay window positioned directly behind the sofa on which she had been sitting for quite some time.

Though Spencer doubted she was actually paying attention to the television.

It was far more likely that she would be completely on edge, closely monitoring every sound the old house made, rather than being enthralled in late night _buy one get one free for only $19.99, limited time offer_ ads.

Plus, she hadn't reached for the phone all night and was therefore obviously not yet addicted.

Morgan shifted in the driver's seat, the ordinarily soft sound creating the only blatant noise in the car.

Spencer knew how to handle boredom gracefully, but Morgan was beginning to go stir-crazy.

The digital clock on the dashboard declared it to be ten o'clock.

At that exact moment, the channel's most recent infomercial ended and J.J switched off the TV.

The lights in the living room were dimmed just enough to ensure that the Unsub could see her but not _see_ _her_.

She even resorted to jeans and a t-shirt for her undercover attire, which Spencer found to be rather flattering on her.

Jennifer certainly did follow directions exactly, her every movement was precisely timed.

Of course, she didn't have much of a choice after Hotch's strict rules were implemented, for her own good, as he had insisted.

Now she would walk casually up the stairs and switch on the bathroom light.

Spencer waited.

Sure enough the light went on, thirty seconds past, and it was then switched back off again.

Next she would head to Jane Rowland's room and then the real fun would begin.

She had been told repeatedly to be ready with her gun just in case something should go wrong and the Unsub made it past them undetected.

This, of course, was an impossibility at this point, as Hotch had the whole place rigged and wired, including JJ.

No corners were cut.

And now she would wait, lying in the bed like an unsuspecting victim.

The Unsub was expected to show within the next hour.

He didn't.

In fact, three hours later, one o'clock had rolled around, and still not even a sign of the guy.

The window of opportunity had passed them by.

Maybe he was not as desperate as they had originally anticipated. Nevertheless, they were determined to wait him out.

As for Morgan, his boredom only intensified.

He had given up conversations with Reid a while back but was now craving at least _some _interaction. They would be here for a long time, he knew. Perhaps he could have some fun while he waited... _What would make Reid sweat? _he questioned himself.

He knew just the thing. "So," he began, trying for nonchalance, "you and J.J have been _friendly _lately... Something I should know about Agent Reid?"

He wore his very best serious-face and though he was only teasing, he hadnoticed a subtle change in their relationship lately.

Reid's face was priceless. In less than three seconds he had turned an impossible shade of red and was sporting a deer-caught-in-headlights expression. It was no secret that he had a crush on her, but maybe there really was something he should know about...

Spencer had honestly not been expecting this sudden turn of events.

His brain had been so preoccupied with statistics and probabilities, that Morgan had completely blindsided him.

Morgan knew. How could he possible know? They had been so careful.

What if Gideon and Hotch knew? Maybe they were writing up his dismissal right now... Or JJ's. Oh God, what if he had gotten JJ fired?

Morgan began to laugh, his face splitting into a wide grin.

He slapped Reid on the back. "Hey man, I was only kidding with you. Though you and J.J..." He nodded suggestively and raised one eyebrow, immensely enjoying Reid's discomfort.

Reid was relieved but not pleased with Morgan's idea of a game.

The last thing he needed right now was to get caught. Neither he nor J.J could risk losing their jobs.

It was unfortunate, really, that they couldn't be open about their relationship. Of course, that was assuming there was a relationship to be open about, and at this point he really couldn't say for sure.

He had never felt the things she made him feel before. Sure there had been crushes before her, even girlfriends, but those never lasted very long. Plus, dating him to either cheat off of or on him always tended to strain his relationships.

But J.J... He just couldn't figure her out. The girl had zero inhibitions and yet remained completely in control at all times. He understood, of course, that it could not last.

Such things never did in his life, but he was accepting of that inevitability. He had decided in the beginning to simply enjoy her temporary insanity while he could.

Morgan continued to laugh and tease.

Spencer sighed. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

It was not until three o'clock in the morning that the team finally resigned themselves to the fact that he wasn't going to show up.

He had won just as he knew he would.

Now the Feds would pack-up and leave the house, giving him the perfect chance to make his move.

He watched as the two older FBI agents made a detour to the house.

This was unexpected.

Moments later they came back out, followed by a petite blonde.

He paused, anger flaring up in his veins. She was not here. She had never, in fact, even been here.

It was still rather dark, the sun not scheduled to rise for a few hours, but he could now see the blonde clearly enough to distinguish her as a decoy.

The useless bastards had tried to fool him yet again. Just what did they think he was, an idiot? Dumb enough to fall into their pathetic traps?

He seethed with hatred and clenched his fists to his sides.

He would not do anything rash... He just needed a new plan that was all. Needed to adapt. To utilize a little ingenuity... To find the girl and punish these FBI pigs who thought they could outsmart him. The blonde...An epiphany suddenly came to him, curling his lips into a sneer with its arrival.

It would just be too easy.

* * *

The six tired agents reconvened briefly in the relative seclusion of the driveway.

Through a unanimous vote, they decided to call it a night, or in this case, a morning.

The Unsub was likely either too frightened by the events of the night before to return so soon after, or, and no one on the team cared to openly admit this suspicion, he hadn't been their guy in the first place.

Still, they arranged to stakeout the home for one more night, just in case. Everyone was sufficiently exhausted, including J.J who _had _been on-edge, lying in Jane's bed for hours waiting to be attacked by some unnamed assailant.

Both Hotch and Gideon were silently proud of her, but J.J remained strangely quiet.

Everyone assumed she was just tired, and while this was partly true, her quiet mood was really more a reflection of her disappointment. She never imagined she would be disappointed that someone hadn't tried to kill her, but she had wanted so badly to prove herself as a worthy member of the team, that she felt it was her fault he hadn't come.

She had let the team down.

The general opinion of the group right now was that sleep was the _only _option. True, they wouldn't get much sleep, but surely some was better than none.

Gideon watched J.J with concern.

She seemed withdrawn, the way Reid got when he was deep in thought.

He knew she would be disappointed, but also knew better than to point it out in front of the other team members. Sleep would do her some good, that way they could reenergize and try this futile exercise again tomorrow.

Attempting to avoid putting J.J into any more awkward situations for the night, Gideon suggested she and Reid take the SUV parked around the corner and they would all head back to the hotel.

An hour and a half drive with Reid was sure to be quieter and less stressful than with any other member of the over-exhausted team right now.

Reid and J.J agreed and the team split up, two to a car, and headed toward the empty solace of their hotel beds.

J.J drove, leaving Spencer to navigate in the passenger seat.

Her brain was just too tired to focus on a map right now, however, since Spence's brain never seemed to fatigue, he was immediately volunteered to plot their course on the winding roads of the dense countryside.

They drove in silence, other than the occasional whispered direction.

Both were consumed by their thoughts, but it was not long before the car began to show signs of dysfunction.

J.J gaped at the gas meter. She had pulled out with half a tank of gas but was suddenly sitting at empty after only thirty minutes of driving.

She turned to mention the bizarre occurrence to Spencer, but before she could even begin, the car jerked and swerved, screeching to a halt at the side of the road.

J.J's fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles were white. Needless to say, they were now both fully awake.

Before either of the two could open their mouths in question, smoke began to rise from under the hood of the car.

They jumped out and raced around to pop the hood.

Smoke rushed out, forcing them to back away from the overwhelming heat.

"What the hell happened?" J.J questioned aloud.

She looked down the road, but the rest of the team were too far ahead to notice they had stopped.

After several minutes of cursing and confusion they finally decided to call Hotch and have him turn around and pick them up. As luck would have it, there was no cell reception.

The combination of exhaustion, righteous anger and over-all disappointment with the past twenty-four hours had J.J very near to tears.

They had been lucky, she supposed, to not have hit a tree or otherwise gotten killed by the damn useless piece of machinery that was now smoking only a few meters away from her.

The night air was hot, humid and unbearable.

She took her leather jacket off and tossed it in the car as Spencer walked around holding his cell phone to the sky in search of reception.

She couldn't take it anymore and decided she had to sit down and think.

They couldn't walk... They were probably ten miles away from Jane Rowland's house by now. It would be even farther to reach the city limits. They would just have to get the cell to work.

Shit. She dropped down on the grass defiantly, noticing for the first time tonight how beautiful the stars were in the country.

They had ended up in a small grassy clearing, which was not a total loss; at least the ground was comfortable.

She laid against the cool grass, staring up at the sky, her anger slowly melting away.

It was not long before Spencer's shadow washed over her momentarily, and he came to rest next to her.

"Anything?" J.J asked.

"Nope."

"Great."

"Yep," he sighed.

They stayed this way for several minutes, both enjoying the comfortable silence and allowing their anger and disappointment to be replaced with contentment.

Spencer was acutely aware of how close J.J was right now.

Their arms rested against each other.

If he concentrated enough he swore he could feel her heartbeat.

"I miss this," J.J whispered. "Being able to see the stars," she explained. "Not the greatest view in the city."

Nostalgia for her home town rushed into her voice. Life had seemed so simple back then; so easy.

Her comment led to a brief discussion on the constellations and Reid pointed out the ones he could find.

J.J smiled, ironically enjoying herself for the first time in days, and Spencer couldn't hold back a grin as he watched her.

The moonlight touched her golden hair in the most fascinating way as it sprawled across the grass beneath her, and Spencer found himself resting on one elbow to get a better look.

It did not take long for her to notice him watching her with that adorable shy smile on his lips and her eyes darkened with desire as she brought her hand up along his jaw line, making notes on the curves and angles of his face.

Their bodies felt electric and soon his lips were on hers, gentle at first, then with increasing urgency.

His hands found their way to her hipbone and under the hem of her t-shirt, fingers drawing soft circles on her smooth skin.

She entwined her fingers in his hair, drawing him closer and deepening the kiss.

Spencer pulled back, gasping for breath and embarrassed by his sudden rush of passion. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have--"

"Don't stop," she panted, drawing him into another kiss, this one longer and deeper than the last.

With the grass beneath them and the infinite star-filled expanse of sky above them, they felt as though the laws of time had ceased to exist.

Spencer jumped at the unexpected sound of his cell phone.

Reaching into his pocket he read Hotch's number on the caller ID. _Damn. _

"Guess there's reception out here after all," he regretfully announced.

* * *

By the time they had finally reached the hotel, it was already five in the morning.

J.J thought about just staying awake at this point, but knew that she should at least try to sleep and regain some focus.

Hotch insisted they get some rest, and headed to his and Gideon's room to do the same. Spencer insisted on walking J.J the two flights up to her room.

She didn't have to worry about waking Emily since the two girls were the only ones that did not end up being able to share a room, due to last minute booking, so J.J was stuck on the top floor by herself.

After quickly scanning the hallway, she kissed Spencer good-night, and he headed to his room.

Despite the night's events, she felt elated.

She opened her hotel room door, having forgotten to lock it when she left at one thirty yesterday morning.

Stepping into the welcoming silence, she tossed her jacket on the chair next to the bed and, still smiling, placed her cell phone in its charger.

The room was dead still except for the sound of her light shuffling, but as she removed her gun from its holster and gently added it to the bedside table, she heard a rustling behind her.

Her heart froze in her chest as her sleep-deprived brain suddenly registered the fact that there was another person in the room with her.

Before she could even think to grab her gun and turn, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her and a piece of material was pressed to her face.

Struggling and gasping for breath, she collapsed into darkness and her attacker's arms.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey, has anyone seen J.J this morning?" Hotch asked the rest of the team, taking a seat in the dining room of the hotel.

He couldn't believe how fast the night had gone by, particularly the short amount of time in which he was able to sleep. He watched the storm clouds that had gathered outside send sheets of rain against the windows as he shifted in the uncomfortable chair.

"Her alarm probably didn't go off after the power outage last night. Do you want me to go get her?" Emily offered.

"Ah, let her sleep," Gideon suggested. "It's going to be another long night anyway."

"She'll be pissed she missed out on breakfast though," Morgan noted around a mouth full of the pancakes offered at the hotel's continental breakfast.

Emily took a sip of her complementary coffee and grimaced. "I doubt that."

Only Morgan could find the repulsive array of breakfast-flavoured lard even remotely appealing.

Reid went to take a drink of his coffee as well but Emily shook her head in warning and he put his cup back down.

"Garcia sent me some information this morning," Gideon began.

"Good or bad?" questioned Morgan, swallowing and reaching for his glass of orange juice.

"Bad and bizarre--her words, not mine. DNA was recovered from the evidence you two found at the Artym house. Apparently the cigarette butts matched the DNA from the blood, which was mixed with saliva. Turns out, not only was the blood not from our Vic, but our Unsub is currently suffering from advanced lung cancer," Gideon continued, stirring his unappetizing coffee.

"Not surprising after all the cigarettes that guy went through," Morgan commented.

"Well that's good isn't it? If he's a cancer patient, then he must be registered at a hospital somewhere, right?" Emily concluded.

"It's definitely something we will be checking into, though the lab didn't find any traces of medicinal agents or evidence of radiation in the blood."

"That was the bizarre news, right? So what's the bad?" inquired Morgan.

"Ran the DNA through CODIS and nothing came up," explained Hotch, who had been forwarded the same information.

"Maybe we need to broaden our search," Spencer suggested. "He could be from out of state. North Dakota's Criminal Database is not yet as advanced as some of the other states; like California, which currently has the third largest criminal database in the world. Garcia could get our Unsub's DNA cross-referenced over the state lines."

Hotch nodded. "Already have her on it, but the system is so backed up right now, she says it could take at least twenty-four hours."

Emily reflected solemnly, "Hopefully we have twenty-four hours before he finds another victim."

* * *

J.J shifted on the firm mattress, her sleep-clogged brain struggling to pry its way out of the darkness.

Slowly her consciousness returned, and though she opened her eyes, the light was still too dim to see her surroundings.

Her entire body ached.

As soon as her mind cleared enough for her to question her whereabouts, she became overwhelmed by a sudden wave of nausea.

J.J had never been hit by a car before, but she imagined it would feel like this. _God_, she muttered, holding her head, it was worse than any hang-over she had ever experienced. Where in the hell was she? What happened?

The memories rushed back to her faster than she cared to relive them.

The case…The house… Lying under the stars… A chill made its way up her spine. Someone had been in her room. Must have followed her… A realization hit her: Chloroform. That had to be it.

She knew it had smelt familiar. She could still taste it.

She shuddered again but immediately stilled.

Her attacker could be in the room with her… watching… waiting.

She didn't want to believe it was their Unsub, but who else could have targeted her?

She tried to even out her breathing and avoid any unnecessary movements.

Her eyes began to adjust to the small amount of light entering the room. It wasn't from a light bulb that she could tell. It wasn't exactly a room either.

She could smell the dank, musty scent of earth.

As she peered cautiously around her, she noted that she was alone.

She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate despite her migraine.

She knew she had to analyze her surroundings thoroughly. She needed to be calm, in control.

She needed to get the hell out of this place. Then she could panic.

The mattress she was lying on was on the floor. It was slightly damp, but she didn't want to think about why. She was nauseous enough as it was.

She had to be underground. Maybe a cave or a cellar.

She looked across the tiny room and noticed for the first time that a toilet that was stationed there.

Or at least it may once have been a toilet. She had seen some pretty bad public restrooms before, but this officially topped the list.

Along the far wall she noticed something even more disconcerting. Bars.

This wasn't a room, it was a cell.

Forcing herself to sit up, her stomach rebelled and blood immediately rushed to her head, making the room spin wildly around her.

She was definitely going to be sick. Instinctively, yet begrudgingly, she ran to the toilet and vomited. How could she have let this happen to her? Some FBI Agent, she mentally chastised herself.

The last thing she needed was to become one of the pictures they posted on the white board, another victim.

* * *

The team headed out of the hotel dining room, ready to begin another long day of investigation.

"Agent Gideon?" inquired the young girl behind the counter in a small voice as he walked ahead of the other agents and past the front desk.

Jason paused at his name and turned to the girl, the rest of the team engaging in quiet conversation not far behind him.

"I have your mail, sir," she added and pushed a small stack of envelopes across the counter. He vaguely remembered her checking them in when they had arrived.

"Thank you." He smiled, taking the letters.

She blushed and returned to the reception desk.

He sifted through them quickly, passing two of them to Hotch, and one to Spencer.

The last had nothing but 'FBI' scrolled across it in red ink and seemed to bulge a bit at the bottom. He opened it with care as he walked.

Hotch nearly ran right into him when he stopped dead in his tracks.

Agent Hotchner opened his mouth to question Gideon's abrupt halt, but before he could say anything, Gideon dropped the envelope and took off up the stairs in a sprint.

Aaron instantly knew something was wrong.

The rest of the team had ended their conversations in favour of staring after Gideon and the atmosphere of confusion and nervousness he had left behind.

Morgan came up behind Hotch and knelt to pick up the contents of the envelope Gideon had discarded.

A whispered, "Shit," was all he could manage when he saw what it contained.

He shoved the photograph into Hotch's hands and ran after Gideon, pulling his gun out of its holster as he took the steps two at a time.

Hotch looked down at the folded photo in his hand, opening it slowly as Reid and Prentiss peered over his shoulder.

A combination of blinding rage and paralyzing fear over-whelmed him as he stared in shock at the picture of J.J's lifeless body lying on the floor of her hotel room.

For a solid moment none of the three agents could remember how to breathe.

Finally breaking the spell, Emily reached for the envelope on the ground, and shook it until a lock of blonde hair fell gracefully into the palm of her hand.


	6. Chapter 6

The BAU Team had been in the Williston Police Station's main boardroom for over two hours.

It was chaos.

Garcia was on her way there and the rest of them were tirelessly searching for information connecting the victims.

Hotch watched the pandemonium around him for a moment, noticing the unique methods each agent used to deal with their emotions.

One of his agents had just been abducted.

Abducted_.._. He still couldn't wrap his mind around it. How that monster had managed to not only kidnap a Federal Agent, but do so right under his nose... Well, that's what he and Gideon were currently trying to determine.

Still, he found himself grateful.

When he had finally reached Agent Jareau's hotel room that morning, he had honestly expected to be confronted by his worst fears.

At least the fact that she was nowhere to be found allowed him to maintain some hope.

The Unsub hadn't killed her.

Hotch had been working this job long enough to know that this did not necessarily mean she was _still_ alive, but he refused to believe otherwise. The Unsub would not have left them any bread crumbs if he had intended to simply kill her.

His team had taken the hit hard.

Reid had shut down almost completely.

Hotch had never seen the kid so quiet and focused, and _that_ was saying something. He knew Reid had a close relationship with J.J and would be devastated at her loss.

Morgan had predictably resorted to random violent outbursts and pacing, along with the occasional uttered threat towards the 'sick sonofabitch' who did this, which Hotch knew Morgan would follow through with if he was only given the opportunity.

Morgan never said aloud how much the team mattered to him, but it was always obvious that he regarded them as family. With no relatives nearby, or close friends to care about, Morgan had unknowingly adopted the team to fulfill his relational needs.

Then again, Hotch supposed, they had all really become like family.

Sometimes he felt as though they knew him better than his wife and son, and of course this was true in many ways. He had shared experiences with these people that he could never share with anyone else, if only because no one else could possibly understand as they could.

Gideon sat in a seat by the window, his heart, as always, on his sleeve. Jason blamed himself; Hotch could tell just by looking at him. But then again, Aaron blamed himself as well.

They all took the blame for one reason or another.

Gideon looked tired and worn, his reaction more emotional than the others, and the polar opposite to that of Emily, who had immediately repressed any surfacing emotions. She was full of energy, flipping through papers and taking notes, mentally denying any connection to the case because she could not have pushed through it otherwise.

As Hotch analyzed each agent's reaction automatically, he unintentionally scrutinized his own.

It was an unfortunate side-effect to any career related to psychology; one could never remain in the blissful ignorance that is denial for very long.

He noticed that he had been referring to Jennifer as his agent, or Agent Jareau since they had discovered she was missing. He knew she was more than just another agent to him. She was strong, capable and like a daughter to him.

He had watched her grow into a talented profiler and took some personal pride in that development.

Now she was gone. Just gone. Vanished.

God only knew what that psychopath was doing to her right now, and he wasn't there to protect her; to keep her safe.

He never should have let her take Ms. Rowland's place that night.

He had failed. Completely and utterly failed to do his job and he had never been so ashamed.

The whole situation was just too much to take, it was no wonder he was over-compartmentalizing like Prentiss, he thought to himself.

Now all they could do was sift through endless stacks of old cases and pursue fruitless leads until they found that one piece of information that would bring it all together.

There was always _something_.

It had to be there, trapped deep within the pages.

It always was.

* * *

She had no idea what time it was, or how long she had been trapped here.

J.J had methodically searched the entire area for an escape-- even just a potential escape, she wasn't picky.

After shaking at the impenetrable bars that separated her from the room beyond, and ripping apart anything she could get her hands on (which wasn't much), she had yet to find any glimmer of hope in the darkness surrounding her.

Her eyes were used to the lack of light now, and she had come to the conclusion that the small amount of luminosity from the adjacent room had to be from a window of some sort.

She peered through the bars once more, instinctively testing their sturdiness, just in case she had loosened them up a bit from her last assault.

The room beyond the bars was shrouded in darkness, but from what she could tell, it was a workshop of some sort. A tool bench lined the majority of one wall, piled with odds and ends that she could not quite make out.

In the very center, and only about six feet from where she now stood, was a long wooden table. It stood quite high off the ground and looked solid and heavy.

If she squinted hard enough, she could even see the beginning of stairs tucked into the corner.

Some sort of alcove was stationed in the opposite corner, farthest from her, and appeared to be the source of the light. J.J concentrated on memorizing the room.

Those stairs could be her salvation.

Now, if she could only reach them.

Her hands ached from her efforts, but her migraine had lessened considerably. She felt more focused and clear than when she had first woken.

She couldn't take it anymore; being trapped like an animal.

The cell was too small. It was just too small. She couldn't stay in here.

Her breathing quickened as her peripheral vision alerted her to the fact that the room was becoming even smaller. She whipped around, back against the cold steel bars.

The walls were moving. They were _moving_. She was sure of it.

They were closing in on her. Trying to crush her.

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't _breathe_.

She sank slowly to the ground, closing her eyes tightly and trying desperately to get hold of herself.

They weren't moving; that was ridiculous. Walls didn't just move. She was fine. Just fine.

She tried to stop shaking, even out her breathing. Before she could get her rampant emotions in check, rage overwhelmed her, and she released a feral, frustrated scream.

She turned back towards the bars and began banging them with her fists, shaking them and throwing her body into them. She couldn't handle it.

She needed out now. Now.

She continued her assault on the bars and her screaming until her voice was hoarse and her hands were bloodied, yet still she made no progress.

It could have been ten minutes or an hour before she finally ran out of strength and sank back to the floor, close to tears but unwilling to cry.

She needed a better plan.

She would just have to wait until the Unsub came back for her, and make her escape then.

She was physically fit. God knows soccer had kept her in peak physical condition for many years. She even had to take mandatory self-defence classes for her FBI training. Hell,Morgan had given her some combat training. She may not look formidable, but she knew she could fight her way out of this situation if necessary, and it was beginning to look necessary.

Still, she would feel more comfortable with her gun. Now _that_, she was formidable with; though it seemed to be missing in action.

She vaguely remembered taking it off before her attack.

If so, it was probably safe and sound in her room right now. Damn.

Not only was she missing her gun, but her cell phone, keys, rings, watch, the necklace her father had given her on her twentieth birthday, and even her pocket change.

Most of those objects she was certain she had not removed herself.

Unfortunately that left her completely unarmed.

She had no idea how this Unsub could find pocket change threatening, but apparently he had.

She thought back to their interrogation of Jane Rowland. She had described him as tall and strong. If she couldn't take him in hand-to-hand combat, she would have to go the defensive rout.

She slowly became aware of the ache in her hands. _Crap_. They were pretty beat-up.

She scanned her bleak and dismal surroundings, hoping the disgusting place didn't leave her with infections. She would have to be more careful from now on.

No more emotional outbursts.

She had to be in control.

* * *

Gideon stopped the security footage and replayed it again.

It was no use.

Every last camera in the hotel had abruptly stopped between five AM and five fifteen AM; right around the time Hotch, Reid and J.J had gotten back to the hotel.

The hotel managers blamed the storm raging outside, but Gideon knew it was just too coincidental.

He turned to Aaron, who was working fiercely in the chair across from him. "Something isn't right about these tapes."

Hotch looked up from a stack of papers. "Garcia confirmed they weren't tampered with."

"It's just too convenient. The last footage is of the three of you in the parking lot. It never shows J.J leave. She did actually reach her room, right?"

"Reid says he walked her right to her door." Hotch paused to highlight something.

Leave it to Spencer to be chivalrous, at least someone was these days, Gideon thought to himself, deciding not to question Reid's motives for doing so. "It can't just have been the storm."

"I agree, but the police checked every electrical source. Nothing was out of the ordinary." Hotch looked up and noticed Gideon sigh discontentedly, looking remarkably similar to a wounded puppy. Damn him. "I'll have them check again," Hotch gave in, knowing that of course it was for the best anyway.

Nothing could be overlooked, especially now that J.J's life was on the line.

Hotch took out his cell phone and made the call, Gideon returning to the security tapes.

Emily walked over to Jason from across the room. "Any luck?" she questioned, peering over his shoulder.

"Nothing." He was becoming frustrated, though no one but Aaron could really tell. "Did you find any connection between the victims?"

"Nothing substantial," Prentiss lamented. "The two younger girls were both in high school, but their schools were across the city from each other. One public, one catholic. The other possible victims that Garcia and I dug up from the police station were mostly prostitutes, but this guy seems to have become a lot more confident. And random. At first he wouldn't take anyone under thirty, then he goes for some kids, then back up in age again..."

"Maybe he lost interest in older women," Morgan commented, joining Emily and Gideon.

"Well he definitely lost something. This guy is _not_ playing with a full deck of cards." Emily shook her head.

"Keep looking," Gideon instructed, "there must be a way he's finding them. It could be anything; maybe they all went to the same hair dresser or frequented the same bar."

"Yes sir." She went back to her laptop and notebooks.

"Morgan?" Gideon began, looking toward Spencer, who was currently stooped over an old police file, looking exceptionally frail.

He was so thin, Jason thought it was a wonder the boy didn't just blow away.

"I want you to take Reid and check out the local hospitals. If this guy had cancer, he has got to be registered somewhere."

"What should we be looking for?"

"You'll know when you find it." Gideon tried to smile encouragingly, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Morgan nodded, deep in thought, and left to gather the remaining pieces of their resident genius. Gideon sighed again and turned back to the computer screen, noticing the first rays of sunlight breaking through the storm, and allowing them to grant him a little faith.


	7. Chapter 7

Hours had passed and now J.J had resigned herself to waiting on the floor next to the mattress, planning her escape.

Her frayed nerves had just begun to calm.

The Team would surely know she was missing by now.

They would come for her. Hell, maybe they were on their way right now, to rescue their little damsel in distress. She hated herself for getting into this situation. She should have been more prepared.

They were hunting a goddamn _Serial Killer_. How could she let her guard down like that?

She had probably compromised the entire investigation. God only knew what the Unsub was doing to some poor innocent girl right now while the BAU was preoccupied with finding her; though she _really _did want to be found.

Several hours ago would have been nice, but she could wait it out if she had to.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair.

She refused to consider herself a victim. It was her job to help victims, not be one.

Hotch and Gideon must be so ashamed of her right now. Her efforts to prove her worth on the team were not evolving as planned.

She was deep in thought when she heard the click of a lock in the shadows.

Her senses went on full alert and she stood slowly and quietly, ready to make her move.

The heavy sound of boots cut through the deafening silence.

Someone was coming down the stairs.

She steadied herself and adopted a defensive stance, trying to ignore the fear that had swelled up in her stomach.

She counted the steps as the boots found them in the darkness.

Nine, ten, eleven... The noise stopped, boots coming into contact with solid earth.

She could faintly see the shadow of a man at the bottom of the stairs.

Eleven steps.

She could do this.

Suddenly the entire area was filled with light, and she was temporarily blinded by it.

Upon opening her eyes, she could see the man by the light bulb string, staring back at her with something akin to mirth on his lips and a predatory gaze. "I see you're awake," his voice was velvety and even.

She watched him carefully, burning a picture of the man into her brain for future reference.

When she got out of here, the police would need a description. The blossoming profiler in her came to the dramatic realization that he had no intention of letting her go. He made no effort to hide his face from her. He was definitely confident in his abilities.

His short hair had mostly greyed but still showed signs of the jet-black locks of his youth.

He had to be in his late forties, early fifties.

Jane had been right though, he looked strong for his age.

He moved towards the bars of her cell, never breaking eye contact. "I trust you already know who I am, little lady?"

She made no move to respond but now knew for sure that this was their Unsub.

"The quiet type I suppose? You've never seemed especially quiet at your press conferences Miss. Jareau."

She didn't flinch. He had done his homework apparently, and was flaunting it to gain a reaction from her.

"Must be nice working for the _FBI_," he said mockingly. "You Federal Agents..." he began with a disapproving chuckle, "you all think you're so smart. Well darling, if you're as smart as you act in front of a microphone, you'll tell me where she is."

His dark eyes bore into her.

So he was still after Jane. Talk about obsessive, this guy did not give up easily. Kidnapping an FBI Agent to get answers... he couldn't possibly expect to make it out of this alive.

"Don't be shy," his voice raised several octaves. "You know who I am talking about. Where is she?"

His hands were wrapped tightly around the bars now but he immediately regained control of himself and laughed humourlessly, releasing the bars and taking a step back.

In a calm and reassuring tone he offered, "Tell me where she is and I will let you go."

They both knew he was lying.

Sixty seconds past.

She neither moved nor broke eye contact with him, and she watched as his patience began to drop.

The bare bulb over the table on the other side of the bars emitted a sickly glow and swayed gently back and forth.

Her body was painfully tense but she maintained her position. She could see it, in his soulless eyes, when his patience finally wore out.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth, reaching into his pocket and producing a set of keys. "I guess you just need a little convincing then."

She watched intently as he twisted the keys in the lock.

This was her chance. He was opening the door. Eleven steps. She could do this.

She took in a deep but inconspicuous breathe.

The door opened slowly, creaking in protest.

He was only five or six feet away from her now. He paused and reached behind him, pulling out a knife from his belt.

She broke eye contact with him for a split second as the light reflected off the polished metal, and that was the only invitation he needed.

He lunged towards her, intent on pinning her against the dirt wall, but she was ready for him.

He misjudged her move by a fraction of a second, and J.J ducked just before he reached her, leaving him to slam full force into the wall, and made a dash for the door.

She didn't look back, but could hear him curse and growl behind her.

She swerved around the large wooden table, using her momentum to propel herself forward.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she quickly turned the corner to the stairs.

The door was open at the top.

She could have died of relief right there, but instead she flew up the steps.

Six, seven...

She was almost there.

Eight...

She could hear him gaining on her.

At the ninth step her feet were suddenly ripped out from under her, and she hit the wooden stairs hard, head crashing into stair number ten.

His hands were around her ankles, and she kicked and twisted, desperately trying to pull herself free.

He was just as intent, however, to pull her back down.

Before she could shake his hands off of her, he jerked her down several steps, her body objecting to each individual and painful impact, and then he had her pinned, making her efforts fruitless.

She struggled under him and shouted, hoping beyond hope that someone would hear her.

She didn't register his movement until it was too late to prepare herself, and he back-handed her with enough force to snap her head back against the stairs, effectively quieting her protests as her surroundings shifted in and out of focus and her brain filled with sand before surrendering to unconsciousness once more.

* * *

In the time that Morgan had been in the Fairlight Medical Center's second floor men's washroom, exactly eight other people had come through the door; three doctors, three patients and two unknowns.

It had been at least fifteen minutes since he had left Reid in the waiting room to continue reviewing patient lists.

The hospital lead had been a major bust. If their Unsub were even a registered patient here, he was one of hundreds. It seemed as though everyone had lung cancer these days.

Even if they found a potential serial killer in the pile, there was very little they could do about it thanks to doctor-patient confidentiality.

Hopefully they could just narrow it down to a few names and have Garcia work her magic on them.

He washed off the remaining soap on his hands and pressed the liquid soap dispenser again.

He had not actually needed to use the facility, just wanted to calm down.

Reid's emotional distress was rolling off of him in waves and Morgan just couldn't look into his eyes anymore.

He hated this; sitting here, waiting.

He needed to be out there hunting this useless bastard down and showing him exactly what deserved to happen to men that hurt the people he cared about. He had run over the many possible ways to do this, and all were sufficiently painful and graphic.

However, though he had hoped to release some tension on this little excursion to the hospital, it had only made him more frustrated.

He ran the ice cold water over his hands once more, holding them under the stream until they were painfully numb and then starting the process over again. It soothed him and washed the anxiety from his body.

He wasn't an obsessive-behaviour expert for nothing.

At least he hadn't managed to wash them raw this time.

His eyes caught Reid's in the mirror, and he turned off the tap, reaching for a paper towel nonchalantly. He hadn't heard him come in.

Reid watched silently as Morgan made quick work of drying his hands. Derek turned towards him and noticed, not for the first time, the dark circles under his eyes and the paleness of his skin. The kid looked far older than his years.

He hated seeing him like this, and god, he was so quiet.

Morgan didn't think Reid could have gotten any quieter, but apparently he was wrong.

The silence was awkward for Morgan, so he opted to do the big-brother thing and put a comforting arm around Reid's shoulders as they left the washroom.

"We'll find her," he promised.

* * *

Her mind swam, trying to recapture some stability.

Where was she? _Oh, right_.

Her heart sank as she realized she hadn't been dreaming.

She listened as the sound of a conversation slowly reached her ears. It ebbed and flowed as she tried to determine its source.

The Unsub seemed to be talking to someone, his voice fluctuating rhythmically to the sound of her heart pumping loudly in her ears, "... can't be far... no, not worried... I know, you're always right... I do trust you... shh, she's waking up..."

She groaned in discomfort, not fully coherent.

Her wrists caught on something as she instinctively attempted to pull her arms closer to her body.

Not understanding, she tugged again but still her arms did not move.

She repeated the exercise with her legs, but found they too were held in place by some exterior force.

Fingers traced along her jaw line and though she tried to pull away, the fingers followed her, turning her head harshly and forcing her to open her eyes.

She looked at the blurry image of the killer standing over her. She blinked again, her sight slowly being restored, though when she saw his face, part of her wished it hadn't been.

His lips twisted into a dark grin and he looked away from her momentarily, turning to whisper to whoever else was in the room with them. "I love it when they're awake."

J.J looked to where he had directed his comment but saw no one.

Confused, she tried to again to move, but finally realized that she was tied down.

She shifted against the solid board beneath her, noticing for the first time that she was on top of the high wooden table. She could feel the bite of the too-tight ropes around her wrists and began to panic, the weight of her situation finally sinking in.

Her breathing increased and she began to struggle in earnest until the Unsub once again withdrew his knife, this time bringing it to her neck.

She froze, breath catching, and he smirked.

"That's better. It didn't have to be this way you know..." He shook his head with mock disapproval. "Well actually, I suppose it did."

His laugh was empty and sent a chill down her spine.

"Now let's try this again." He took a deep breath, as though preparing himself for a strenuous task, but turned suddenly and yelled, "Goddamnit, I know what I'm doing!"

She watched as he briefly conversed with himself.

She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as he turned back towards her, his expression frustrated.

His voice was level again and left no room for argument. Slowly and intentionally over pronouncing each word, he asked, "Where is the girl?" When J.J refused to answer him, he pressed the blade of his knife harder against the soft skin of her neck. "Answer me!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she lied in a hoarse voice.

She knew full well where Jane was staying; hopefully still under the watchful eye of the police, though now she couldn't say for sure. They may have thought he had moved on and let her go back home.

No, Gideon at least would see through his actions. Wouldn't he? Nonetheless, she refused to risk Jane's safety by confessing her location.

He would never find her, which, she imagined, was probably why he had opted for this particular method of information gathering.

"Don't lie to me _Jennifer_," he warned, pressing just hard enough to break the skin. She closed her eyes. "Last chance. Where is she?"

"I told you. I. Don't. Know," she spat determinedly.

"Alright." He shrugged. "We'll do it the fun way then."

She reopened her eyes as she felt the pressure of the knife withdrawn.

As he moved toward the work bench, she seized the opportunity to test the ropes binding her wrists. Damn it. They were too tight to squeeze out of.

She wracked her brain, trying to think of a way out.

There had to be a way. Where was her team? Why were they taking so long?

She expected to hear Morgan bust down the door any minute now. Then they would all storm the basement, guns blazing, and take the bastard down. Or, alternatively, arrest him and send him to live out the rest of his pathetic life in a jail cell. To be honest, she would take either outcome. Then Spence would gently untie her and whisk her away to their happily ever after.

She wasn't deluded, she assured herself. They would come.

Unfortunately her captor returned first.

He held in his hands some sort of strange, foreign device that she could barely make out in the weak light.

Something about it seemed familiar to her, but she couldn't quite place it.

As he stalked slowly toward her, her eyes widened in realization. 

A cattle prod.

He was holding some sort of mutilated cattle prod, vaguely similar to the one her best friend's dad had on the farm when they were kids. She had always abhorred the thought of using it on animals. Her and her childhood playmate had even managed to steal it from the barn and bury it in the yard after dark without getting caught.

She looked from the device to her attacker, preparing herself for what was to come. She had never been electrocuted before, aside from sticking a knife in the toaster when she was four and getting a shock.

Somehow she knew this would be a lot worse.

She drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes.

She was strong, she could do this.

She repeated her mantra to herself only twice before she was hit by a massive jolt of electricity, lifting her body right off the table with its force.

She tried to release a scream, but it was caught in her throat.

It felt as though shards of glass were running through her blood stream.

Her body was on fire as every muscle tensed and spasmed.

When the current finally stopped her body fell limply to the wooden table top, but she was still conscious.

"Now, tell me where Peigan is," he demanded.

J.J rolled the name around on her tongue.

Peigan... She was confused. Had she heard him correctly? Peigan... What had happened to Jane being the target? Who was Pei- Suddenly she remembered...

_"Do you live here as well Mr. Petruic?"_

_"No, it's just my daughter Peigan and I. Mike was just coming to visit."_

_"Where is your daughter now, Ms. Rowland?"_

_"She's staying at my mother's tonight. She's okay right? I mean you don't think she would be targeted?"  
_  
Her daughter.

He was after Jane's child, not her. It had never been about her.

Before J.J could even think to answer his question, she was hit by another jolt.

This one powerful enough that all she could see were the stars twinkling in the night sky.


	8. Chapter 8

A light was shining into her eyes as she slowly opened them, inducing an immediate headache.

She allowed her head to loll to the side, her muscles aching and burning as she did so.

Looking toward the source of the light, she discovered it to be the same tiny ray she had noticed before. Only from this angle she could now see clearly where it was coming from.

The thin strand of light reached out to her through a crack in a sturdy looking door.

The door itself was tilted forward at an extreme angle, preceded by four or five rickety steps. It must have been the outside access door to the cellar. _Probably should have tried that exit the first time_, she thought.

However, upon closer inspection, she noticed a chain looped through the door's handles and secured with a heavy-duty lock. She sighed.

The ray of sunlight stretched directly across her face, brushing gracefully through her golden hair, though temporarily blinding her with its intensity. It was red-orange in color. _The sun must be setting,_ she noted.

She tried to reach out to it, but found she still was bound and quietly gave up.

Watching the light turn slowly to a darker red, she wondered exactly how long she had been here.

Hours? Days? She couldn't remember the sun having set before, but then again, it felt like she had been asleep for an eternity.

The light vanished suddenly, only to be replaced by the shadow of her captor leaning closely over her.

He had been saying something before, chatting incessantly as he paced back and forth past the table, but she had declined to listen.

Whether he was talking to her or his imaginary friend, she no longer cared.

She simply refused to participate in the cold-blooded homicide of a six year old girl.

Apparently it was this lack of contribution that displeased him. He held the cattle prod inches from her, threateningly, and glared.

She had lost count of how many times he had used it, always testing a new setting.

Four, maybe five.

She had tried, in the beginning, to stop him.

She had lied to him about where Peigan was, insisting that he would never be able to reach her.

After a while though, she became so dizzy and confused that she just couldn't keep her story straight anymore.

It didn't matter.

He always knew when she was lying anyway.

In truth, she really couldn't be sure if everyone was still as she left them yesterday. Or was that still today?

Jane Rowland had been escorted by the police to her boyfriend's apartment. Gideon would surely see through the Unsub's pathetic plan and have the place on lock-down right now. Peigan though... J.J couldn't be sure.

Was Jane the type of mother to keep her daughter out of harm's way by leaving Peigan with her parents? After all, there would be no reason to suspect that the child would be targeted there.

Or was Jane the type of mother who believed that her child would be safest by her side? J.J really hadn't known Jane long enough to make that call, but nonetheless, she wasn't about to inform a murderer that a defenceless little girl was staying at her grandparents' house and maybe even playing in the park right now, just waiting for him.

He leaned even closer to her now, whispering threats and vulgarities into her ear as though whispering sweet nothings to his lover, and set the cattle prod down on the edge of the table.

She then felt the cold edge of metal run down her neck and trail almost sensuously down to her stomach.

She could not quite suppress the shiver of fear that ran through her, and this made him smile in satisfaction. "Where is she?"

He had repeated this question so many times that she had begun to find his persistence amusing.

She held eye contact with him for a moment until he finally looked away.

"_Coward."_

She cringed when the blade finally cut into her, just below her bellybutton, not having realized that she said anything aloud.

The knife left a line of blood across her stomach that dripped steadily onto the wooden surface below. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice edged with danger and his breath stale.

She raised her head slightly, as though in defeat, and he brought his ear closer so as to better hear her.

She noticed his body tense as he expectantly awaited her reply.

"Go..." she began slowly, drawing a breath into her aching lungs, "...to hell."

He growled in anger, flinging himself away from the table and allowing that final ray of sunlight to warm her face once more.

He turned back to her less than a second later, retrieving the cattle prod that had been resting by her side, which was now spotted with her blood.

Every time she had been electrocuted, she felt as though she were being run through by hundreds of knives, but this time, as he stabbed the device into her left arm without warning and the electricity flowed into her body, she felt nothing.

* * *

Spencer Reid sat hunched over on the edge of the bed in his hotel room, a letter in his lap.

Gideon had taken him aside ten minutes ago and politely insisted he go get some rest and return to them later with a clearer mindset.

Ever since J.J had gone missing, they had all been treating him like glass.

It frustrated him to no end, but he just didn't have the heart to unleash that frustration on Gideon--whom he knew had only his best interests in mind--so he hesitantly agreed to take a break.

He knew they expected him to sleep for a while, but he could only imagine how awful the nightmares would be tonight. He just didn't feel right sleeping, while J.J was out there somewhere alone, or worse... with a ruthless killer.

He sighed hopelessly, wiping the sleeve of his shirt across his brow.

The air conditioner had busted down days earlier, when they had first arrived, and the stifling heat in the room had become near unbearable.

The sun was almost set and cast an eerie glow on the walls as it filtered through the closed blinds.

He looked down at the letter in his hands.

It was from his mother.

He hadn't had a chance to read it after the day's events.

He gently fingered its seal. If he opened it, he supposed he would _have_ to read it. If he read it, he would be obligated to respond... What could he possibly tell her?

He hated the thought of her being disappointed in him, but he would have to tell her the truth. After having her locked up, he owed her that much. She would worry if he didn't respond promptly as he usually did. At the moment, however, he couldn't seem to care.

He tossed the unopened envelope onto his side-table and fell back on the bed, lying horizontally across it so his feet still touched the ground.

He ran through the case files again in his head.

There had to be something he overlooked.

He stared intently at the stucco on the ceiling, deep in thought, but soon his mind drifted to the last time he saw J.J. He shouldn't have left her.

Logically he understood that he couldn't have known someone would have been waiting for her, but that knowledge didn't stop the churning in his stomach.

He should have done _something_.

He shifted experimentally on the hard mattress but found no position to be any less uncomfortable and wondered how long it would be prudent to wait in here, pretending to be asleep, before he could go back out, try again, correct his potentially fatal error in judgment and get J.J back.

* * *

He realized the repercussions of his violent outburst too late, as the agent's body lifted off the table, overpowered by the force of the current, and fell limply back down.

"Shit!" He dropped the cattle prod in a panic and it crashed to the floor with a resounding _thud_. What the hell had he been thinking? He was always so careful to avoid the left side of the body! He had only made that juvenile mistake once before and had since sworn never to do it again.

Blinded by his rage he had neglected to note his position in regards to the agent's sensitive heart.

She was no longer breathing.

He pressed two fingers against her neck, feeling for a pulse.

Nothing.

The current had moved straight up her arm and stopped her heart.

He checked again in desperation, fearing that had just lost his only hope of finding Peigan, and thought he could feel a faint, thready heart beat.

Perhaps he had stopped in time.

He shook her fiercely but to no avail, and decided instead to attempt CPR.

Even if he could bring her back, there would be no telling the damage to her heart.

She may not last long. She had been weakened already from his previous assaults, but surely she could pull through?

He cursed himself for his impulsiveness, begging for her to wake up again, at least long enough to tell him where the child was... After that he didn't care what happened to her.

She would have had to die anyway, but this was just too sudden.

He felt helpless as he pounded his fists against her chest several times before tilting her head back and covering her nose while he breathed air into her lungs. He repeated the procedure twice more while swearing and pleading to any deity that would listen.

Still nothing.

If he couldn't find Peigan, it would be over for him.

Finally, on the fifth attempt, the blonde took in a deep breath, blue eyes fluttering open momentarily before she passed out again.

He checked her pulse once more and found it stronger, her breathing shallow and slow. Thank God_._

He panted from his efforts.

All was not lost.

He felt as though he had been given a second chance.

He was exhausted from the stress of the situation and began coughing violently, _"Goddamnit." _He sat down on the bottom stair and placed his head in his hands.

The stubborn, self-righteous blonde had been only trouble for him so far.

Constance paced in front of him, periodically glancing at the now-sleeping girl on the table.

"I don't like her," she deadpanned. "This was a bad idea, she won't tell us anything. _What were you thinking? _You nearly ruined everything! What are you going to do now? The FBI isn't just going to stand around and let you do whatever the hell you want to one of their agents. They won't just give up the girl and let you go free."

He hated it when she was angry.

She stopped pacing suddenly and stood directly in his line of vision. She sighed and knelt down in front of him.

After a moment of childish avoidance, he raised his head slightly and looked into her eyes.

They softened at his cowardice and she placed a gentle hand on his cheek. "You can't keep this up," she began in a whisper, "We _need_ her, baby-- _you_ need her. It's the only way. She's the one. It has to be her."

"She's just a child Constance." Peigan's young age had been weighing on his mind. "How can you be sure?" he questioned in a moment of doubt.

"Don't you see baby, it will work perfectly-- it's in her blood. Her youth, her health, her innocence... She's an _angel_, and we need a miracle that only an angel can grant. It's her destiny."

He followed her logic carefully and quickly adopted it as his own.

"Don't you see baby?" she repeated softly and he nodded his head in compliance.

"I don't know what else to do." he admitted, looking toward the FBI agent lying on the high wooden table.

It was the one surface he tried to keep clean and now her blood was all over it. He hated her, but couldn't allow himself to sever his only remaining tie to his little angel.

God, he had come close this time though.

It would have been so easy to have just let her go. Too easy. He dug his nails into the palm of his hand in restraint.

No. He couldn't. He had to stick with the plan. Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't make the bitch suffer, he reassured himself.

He would just have to be more careful about it next time.

"It's okay. We'll get through this, alright? We'll make you healthy again. This Jennifer of yours knows where Peigan is. All we have to do is break her, and then she'll give up her pitiful determination and have no other choice but to tell us."

"But I tried Constance. God, I tried. You know, maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe she really doesn't know where the kid is."

"She does."

"But—"

"Trust me."

He sighed audibly and ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "Okay."

She smiled crookedly.

"So she's stubborn." Constance shrugged, standing up. "That doesn't mean she doesn't have a weakness, my love, and I _know_ how much you enjoy finding those..." She beckoned him to join her and he did, his hip protesting the movement.

He didn't think he could handle the pain his body was giving him any longer. He felt his age more and more every day, though he continued to fight it. If he was going to find his angel, it had to be soon.

He moved silently to where Constance was standing and looked down questioningly at the newspaper she was pointing at.

It was tossed carelessly onto his work bench, though he couldn't quite remember bringing it down. It was the latest edition; the one where the little slandering wannabe-reporters had so rudely debased his reputation and painted him to be a menace.

He was not particularly fond of that tasteless article, but if the media wanted to have their fun and create fictional monsters, then he supposed he wouldn't stand in their way.

After all, as his mother used to say, any publicity is good publicity.

Constance looked to him expectantly and gestured to the caption beneath the photograph of the team of FBI investigators that had recently infiltrated his city.

Agent Jennifer Jareau was listed, among others.

Now he remembered bringing it down. He had gathered quite a wealth of information about the young agent in regards to a recent press conference she attended. What he hadn't thought of before were the other members of her team.

Hmm... He read through each name carefully, committing them to memory; _Agent Jason Gideon, Agent Aaron Hotchner, Agent Derek Morgan, Agent Emily Prentiss and Agent Spencer Reid._ Ah, yes.

He recognized the young man in the photograph.

It had been dark the night he first saw him, but there was no mistaking the boy's slight frame and curiously unconfident body language.

He had been the one accompanying Miss Jareau in the SUV that night. A shame too, had the boy not been there he could have whisked the lovely agent away much sooner and with far less risk.

Though, just watching the two young lovebirds rolling around in the grass together was more than enough compensation for a spoiled opportunity.

Even if she was too stubborn to save her own life, surely she would be willing to make an exception to her moral guidelines for those she cared about.

He chuckled and brought the paper over to the lovely agent who was still sleeping peacefully, checking her heartbeat once more and finding it steady.

He had to admit, despite his contempt for her, she was rather beautiful. Deceptively so. More beautiful, even, than any of the previous women.

Half of them were either worn and tarnished by life on the streets, or so caked in make-up he could hardly see their true features. And the younger girls... They did have an admirable essence of youth about them, but they were nonetheless plagued by the awkwardness of their teenage years.

This one though... He studied the curve of her lips and the angles of her cheek bones.

She had something the others didn't; an _infuriating_ stubbornness for one, but also a disconcerting gentleness indicative of a soft heart. It almost made him feel bad about punishing her for her insolence. Almost.

She certainly wasn't as dreadfully annoying when she was asleep and he found himself quite thankful that she hadn't left him sooner than necessary.

He placed a hand against her cheek, running his thumb across her lips and noticed her twitch and mumble incoherently, as though she were having a bad dream. About him, perhaps?

He smiled, supposing that she wasn't a total loss.

He could see why the young man had seemed so enthralled with her.

Even if she wasn't the one he wanted, it couldn't hurt to take a little taste.

He ran his finger lightly across the incision on her stomach and then brought it to his lips.

He may not make it out of this alive, he thought to himself, but he was _certainly_ going to enjoy the ride.


	9. Chapter 9

When she finally awoke from her deep and troubled sleep, all traces of daylight had vanished and she was surrounded by darkness.

Her limbs were unbearably stiff as she stretched them, realizing with relief that she was no longer bound.

The silence of the cellar was broken only by the occasional, strained sound of her breathing. She could feel the now-welcome sensation of a mattress beneath her once again.

He must have left.

She wondered momentarily if he had finally just given up and left her to rot down here, but she quickly pushed the thought away.

He was far too persistent to give up so soon.

Surely he would be back.

She didn't know which scenario would be worse-- his return or being left alone in the dark until she eventually starved to death. Right now she would have to go with the second option, though judging by the increasing protests of her stomach, starving to death may occur sooner rather than later.

As she acknowledged her body's hunger, it immediately began to voice its other concerns.

Her head pounded and her muscles ached. She brought her hand to the cut across her stomach, which she didn't think would be quite deep enough to require stitches, and noticed a painful stinging sensation just a few inches below it.

It took a moment for her to identify the cause of this discomfort. The metal button of her jeans had acted as a conduit for the electricity and left a perfectly circular burn on her abdomen.

She now understood why the Unsub had removed all of her jewellery and taken the change out of her pockets.

Why he had been so _considerate_, she had no idea. Perhaps he had wanted to leave as little evidence as possible on her body, or maybe just preserve her longer.

She shuddered.

J.J laid thinking for a while, on the lumpy and uncomfortable mattress, mentally debating whether or not she should bother to move. He could have accidentally forgotten to lock her in… The chances were practically non-existent, but that was the only hope she had to cling to right now.

She moved to lift herself up but froze at the sudden and sharp pain in her chest and quickly dropped back down. It felt as though she had broken a rib, though she didn't quite remember how that could have happened.

She decided her time would be better spent coming up with a plan of action and letting her body rest.

It was so dark that it made no difference if her eyes were open or closed. She was in pretty bad shape, to say the least, and she realized that her physical condition could pose a problem during her escape. _Escape_... Her brain kept throwing that word around as though it were the simplest concept in the world.

She had tried _escaping_ and failed miserably. Of course, that little incident was not going to stop her from trying again. No. She would escape.

She just needed to rest a little bit first, regain some focus.

However, after the past god-only-knows how many hours that she had been in this hell, she was beginning to feel her own mortality for, really, the first time in her life.

Little thoughts, like marriage and kids and grandchildren, kept popping into her head uninvited. She had always believed that there would be time for everything later. What if she was wrong? It wasn't as though she wanted to run out and get engaged, or try her hand at some extreme sport just to feel the life rushing through her veins, but she didn't want to believe that she had allowed a single moment to pass her by.

Her thoughts were becoming increasingly depressing as time pushed forward so she decided instead to embrace denial in all of its glory.

She _had_ to believe she would make it out of this whole situation alive. Perhaps she would write a book about it someday. She scoffed at this idea. Maybe Spence could write it for her; she would surely be too busy bungee-jumping and back-packing through Europe, to worry about such things.

She began to wonder how her team was doing right now.

She couldn't tell what time it was, but assumed it was either very late or _very_ early.

She knew they would be panicking and trying to find her, but that did not make her feel any better.

They had been no closer to finding this guy when she was attacked than they had been to getting a good night's rest.

Her heart swelled with hatred when she thought about the man who had been keeping her here. He didn't even have the decency to tell her his name, though she could think of a few choice titles for him.

A significant part of her hated him fiercely and wanted only his demise, but that pesky heart of hers kept interrupting her inner-rants. What truly plagued her thoughts about him, and for that matter, about most of the murderers they profiled, was his humanity.

Beneath the sadistic and evil exterior was a creature that had once been human, and perhaps still was.

These people could have done anything with their lives, been anyone, and yet circumstances led them to commit unspeakable acts. This man especially troubled her. He was obviously very sick. She had been watching him talk to his hallucinations since she arrived. His mental illness, his warped version of reality, had obviously gone untreated for many years.

She despised herself for feeling pity towards the sadistic murderer that had trapped her here, but realized that perhaps her ability to manifest sympathy for her tormentor during her darkest hours was exactly what defined her own humanity.

In a strange way it also gave her a sense of control.

In a different life, she could have been one of them; one of the broken ones, who had twisted into something dark and evil until there was almost nothing good left in them.

Sometimes she was haunted by them.

She would see that empty look in their eyes when she dreamed at night. Her nightmares were nowhere near as bad as Spencer's were though.

She could detach herself if it became too much to handle, whereas Spencer had yet to master that emotional control.

Spence would tell her about his dreams sometimes, when they would sit and whisper to each other at the back of the plane, though she suspected he kept the worst ones to himself.

She wondered how he managed to get any sleep at all with so many horrifying images of death and despair seeping out of his subconscious as he slept.

The last time he had discussed a dream with her, after much insistence on her behalf, he had looked so drained from his nightmares that all she could do was hug him and whisper empty promises that they would stop eventually, as they cheated at cards together for the duration of the flight.

He had been surprised when she had hugged him, as this was weeks before their first kiss on the elevator, but after blushing and smiling shyly, he had no nightmares to report the next day.

She decided to take him out to dinner when this was all over. She didn't care if they got caught. _Carpe Diem_, right?

Her train of thought stopped abruptly, along with the silence in the room, as she heard the distinct sound of a door opening.

Her breath caught and her heart began to race as her mind switched into overdrive and released adrenaline into her body.

She wasn't afraid, she told herself, as footsteps made their way down the stairs.

If he killed her… well, she would just have to be more careful in her next life. Sure, she had never really considered the possibility of reincarnation before, but it was starting to look like a viable option.

She refused to look in his direction, instead staring at the dark rafters above her. Maybe she could talk her way out of this-- he hadn't really given her a chance to do so, so far.

As she ran through her options, or lack-there-of, the only solid decision she reached was that she would not be returned to the table without a fight.

He did not turn on the light as he approached the bars, so she was startled by the closeness of his voice when he began, "Have you decided to be more agreeable, Ms. Jareau?"

"Yes," she whispered simply after a moment.

His surprise showed in his voice, "Well then, what would you like to tell me? And it had better not be '_go to hell'_ again. Honestly, I would expect someone like you to be a little more creative."

"I can help you."

"Yes, yes you can." He leaned closer to the bars, intrigued with the unexpected direction of this conversation.

"I know people who can help you to get better," her speech was laboured, "people who know what you're going through. There's medication for your condition. If you let me go, I promise I will get you the help you need." _Here's to hoping the Mad Hatter had a shred of sanity left._

"Do you think I am ill Ms. Jareau?"

She could hear no tell-tale emotions in his voice. Perhaps she was getting through to him… Or he was just screwing with her and she had only made him angry.

Right now, she had nothing, and everything, to lose.

She carefully considered her response, but could think of no better answer than the truth. After a long pause, she offered in a barely-audible voice, "Yes."

He chuckled, openly disregarding the sincerity of her comments. "So you mean to tell me that you can offer drugs and shrinks to keep me subdued?" He laughed again. "And then what Jennifer? Life will be all rainbows and kittens from now on? You think _I_ am the one that needs fixing? You fucking government pigs. Always sticking your noses into the business of others. You want to know who's really _sick_? The entire goddamn nation! All people can rely on these days are lies and corruption, and you expect me to believe _I_ need help? Darling," his voice dropped to a deep and serious tone, "I don't think you fully comprehend the weight of your situation. _You_ are the one that needs help here, not me. Now, I have given you ample opportunity to help yourself, but this is my final offer, no exceptions. You obviously have a self-destructive disregard for your own life, so let's up the stakes a bit, shall we?"

She could hear him begin to pace in front of the bars separating them.

He was wrong. She was quite acutely aware of how serious her situation was right now.

"I know how much you government-types enjoy taking bribes and making deals. So here is _my_ final proposition, and _your_ last chance to help yourself. In exchange for the girl's _current_ location, I won't kill your little friends at the BAU."

She chuckled involuntarily at the ridiculousness of his offer.

"Oh, you don't think I'm serious?"

"You would never get close enough to try."

"Is that so? I seem to recall being perfectly able to get close to you."

He did have a point.

Still, her team was basically invincible.

There was no chance.

"Every law enforcement official in the United States of America already has your profile. They probably even know your identity right now." She had little hope that this was all true, but nonetheless, she figured it would discourage him from pursuing her team. Not that she honestly believed they were in danger. "There is only one way for _you_ to get out of this alive-- let me go, and give yourself up."

He was becoming increasingly agitated and his voice took on a disconcerting evenness, "I think I'd much rather take my chances. Your agents are not as well-protected as you seem to think. In fact, they didn't even have enough commonsense to change hotels. You would be amazed how far a little explosives and some wire can go."

She looked towards him in shock, and could just make out his figure in the darkness as he imitated an explosion with his hands and punctuated it with a whispered _boom_.

"But don't worry," he continued, "I wouldn't want to kill them all at once. Maybe just Agents Morgan, Hotchner and Prentiss." He calmly added in some of the names he had memorized, for shock value. "Then I would make the oldest one, Agent Gideon, watch as I tortured the young Agent Reid and let him bleed to death in front of him. And after I had my fun, I would slit the bastard's throat. Then who would come for you Jennifer?"

She was silent.

Doubt had slipped into her mind but she quickly banished it and chastised herself.

It would be humanly impossible for him to so much as get near them.

He took her silence as an answer. "That's what I thought. Do the right thing and tell me where the girl is, then I will leave you and your pathetic team alone."

She was confident in nothing more so than the abilities of her Behavioural Analysis Unit. His plan was surely ill-conceived. She called his bluff, "No."

This infuriated him further. "I am not playing games here little girl, unless you want me to kill everyone who gets in my way, starting with those Fed's, you had better start talking."

"No," she repeated calmly, knowing by his enraged response that she had indeed called his bluff.

He slammed his hands against the bars, making them clang loudly. Through gritted teeth he muttered, "Fine. Have it your way then."

He stormed out, the basement door slamming behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

Penelope Garcia had arrived in Williston several hours and approximately ten cappuccinos ago.

The tension in the police station when she entered had been so thick and unbearable that she had feared she was too late.

Morgan hadn't even greeted her with a sweet remark or flirty body language, though she wasn't exactly in the mood for any playful banter herself.

Hotch's call before she flew out had sent her reeling. They certainly hadn't covered this aspect of the job in training.

Garcia, after her initial panic over J.J's sudden disappearance, had thought she would simply switch off her abused emotions and concentrate on the task at hand when she arrived, but her caring nature just did not allow this of her.

Looking around at the BAU team and assorted police officers in the crowded room, she realized she was not the only one to have taken the shock to heart. Sighing to herself, and feeling utterly useless, she scrolled through various pages of police reports, Googled cancer patients, and contrasted victims.

The temp at the police department looked completely exhausted as she entered with yet another heaping tray full of caffeinated beverages, which were gratefully received by the overworked officers, and the cup she hadn't even realized was empty was obediently replaced.

She sipped the liquid heaven gratefully as an email notification popped up on her screen.

Garcia had called in a few favours with a friend and was expecting a prompt return of the Unsub's cross-referenced DNA match, which to her relief and amazement, as she opened the email, was apparently now accessible.

She pulled up the information and crossed her fingers, hoping they had found a match.

"Ha!" she shrieked with glee, her enthusiasm returning as she again fell gracefully into her role as _techno-goddess extraordinaire_. No one having heard her first exclamation over the ambiance of the office, she repeated herself louder, "I said '_ha'_!"

Morgan came up behind her, casually placing a hand on her shoulder. "You find something baby girl?"

His curiosity was tangible and Garcia smiled triumphantly.

"We've got him," she reported excitedly.

The recent back-up and maintenance of the national CODIS system had certainly slowed down the procedure quite a bit, but they were lucky to have been able to get priority, after a few strings were pulled and Garcia had threatened several individuals with Hotch's wrath. Now, after hours of searching and panicking, they had finally found their guy. Morgan shouted for Hotch and Gideon to join, and Prentiss and Reid quickly followed. Penelope pulled the CODIS match up onto a larger screen as soon as they had formed a circle around her. "Our Unsub's DNA is a match to one Mr. Walter Kemble.

"He was arrested in 1969?" Emily questioned, referring to Walter Kemble's first and only recorded charge-- a misdemeanour. "He was only 15 then."

"Well he's 53 now. I'm surprised he's even in CODIS," Morgan noted.

"Guess we got lucky. He fits the profile," Gideon added.

"Can you get us anymore information on him Garcia?" Hotch requested, but she was already two steps ahead of him.

"Looks like this guy made big news in Lynnwood." She scrolled through the multitude of articles she had just located. "Says here he was arrested for petty theft along with four other boys in relation to their participation in a satanic cult. They called themselves..." She scrolled as the team listened intently, leaning over her to view the screens, "_The_ _Sons_ _of_ _Darkness_."

"It still doesn't make sense though. He was only 15. You can't take DNA for a misdemeanour."

"You're right- CODIS didn't even exist until the late 80s," Hotch commented.

"A satanic cult? No wonder the press was so interested in the story." Emily turned the idea over in her head, examining it further as she viewed one of the computer screens. "The cops didn't seem to take them very seriously though."

"Probably thought they were just bored suburban teenagers," Gideon offered.

"They probably were," Spencer countered. "Young adults between high school and college age are notably the most vulnerable age group to be brainwashed into cults or related organizations, as they are often seeking acceptance and understanding at that point in their lives."

"Where is he living now?" Hotch questioned, finally allowing the fact that they now knew their Unsub's identity to sink in. It was time for action. He couldn't bring himself to care about this man's past when J.J's future was in jeopardy.

"Um..." Garcia searched fiercely through the CODIS document, "Last known address was #12 McKay Boulevard, Lynnwood." She pulled the address up on a map and frowned. "Looks like it has since been turned into a mall parking lot."

She searched back through the files and articles at awe-inspiring speed, though Hotch was none the less impatient.

Penelope froze when she encountered the one document she had least expected to find.

She bit her lip and turned in her chair towards the team, after magnifying the document to span all four screens.

"It's his death certificate."

* * *

After over an hour of mass confusion and heated arguments, the Behavioural Analysis Unit had decided to take five and reconvene in the police chief's rather copious office, which he had readily offered up, if only to get the stressed FBI agents quarantined.

Garcia was hooking up her laptop to the projector as Morgan and Prentiss walked into the room, obviously in the middle of a volatile conversation.

Reid trailed in quietly behind them and grabbed a seat on the farthest end of the room, next to Garcia, while extracting a file from his shoulder bag.

"Okay, let's just review what we know so far--" Emily began.

Morgan immediately interrupted her, "We don't know shit so far!"

"Then what do you propose Morgan? We sit on our asses some more?"

"My point exactly. We should be out there doing our jobs and finding J.J."

"How? By knocking down the doors of every citizen in the Williston County area? Be rational."

"If we have to, then _yeah_."

Prentiss sighed in frustration. She knew they had to get a grip on their emotions soon or the entire case would suffer for it. "We have to approach this with some logic. If we don't get a hold of ourselves we won't be of any use to J.J or each other. Look, if we are going to catch this guy--"

"That's all you care about isn't it? Catching the bad guy, case closed, problem solved. Do you even care that J.J's missing?"

"Kids! Kids! Come on you guys, just _calm_ down--" Penelope unsuccessfully tried to intervene before someone got hurt.

"Excuse me? What the hell do you mean '_do I care_'? Of course I do! She's my friend too you know." She didn't know what scared her more, that she could finally admit that her _friend_ was the victim in this case, or that her teammates apparently thought her incapable of such trivial things as human emotion.

"You're acting like nothing happened! Like this is just another case!"

"Just because I'm not acting like a wounded puppy like Gideon, or a love-sick teenager like Reid," At this Spencer blushed profusely and looked away to hide his embarrassment, "or an enraged _lunatic_ like you, doesn't mean I don't care, Derek! Excuse me for being rational and trying to find a solution instead of having a nervous break-down like everyone else seems to be so fond of doing!"

"You know what Em, I think you're just too scared to give a shit about anyone but yourself." She knew he was picking a fight out of pent-up frustration, but that didn't stop his harsh words from offending her.

She was completely horrified, "How dare you? I--"

"Everything okay in here?" Derek and Emily ceased their conversation promptly as Hotch entered the room. He eyed them suspiciously.

Emily shot Morgan a look and he replied sheepishly, "Yeah- yeah man, we're good," before moving to sit next to Reid.

Hotch nodded, but was obviously unconvinced.

Garcia spoke up timidly, "I, um, have the projector set up sir... If-if you're ready." The tension between the team members was enough to twist her stomach in knots. They had been getting worse all day.

He pulled out a chair opposite Reid, Emily taking a seat next to him.

He looked up at her as best he could through the blinding light of the low-budget projector and replied in a quiet but commanding voice, "Wait for Agent Gideon to arrive. He should only be a minute."

Garcia nodded meekly and sat down in her uncomfortable fold-up chair, noticing that the awkward silence now inhabiting the room was almost worse than the argument preceding it.

Within moments Jason Gideon entered and took a seat next to Emily, the team now forming a semi-circle in front of the white screen that spanned about a quarter of one wall, with Garcia in the center, hidden behind a computer as always.

One chair remained unoccupied on the left side of the table, and this only served to remind them further of the urgency of the situation.

All were silent and spent, but Aaron nodded expectantly to Penelope and so she began her techno-presentation, eager to dampen the uncomfortable quietness.

"I, ah, pulled up all the relevant information I could find on Walter Kemble."

The empty white screen quickly filled with life as she opened a few of the documents to which she would soon refer. All eyes were on the screen yet she felt the nervousness of being the center of attention.

"Turns out he was the subject of several newspaper articles during his lifetime. The earliest," At her insistence, the article filled the screen, "was mostly about his mother. She was an aspiring actor in the early fifty's but didn't get very far.

She killed herself in 1964, when Walter was 10. She slit her wrists in the bathroom of her Lynnwood home."

"That was probably what set him off," Hotch noted, and received a few grunts and nods of agreement as Garcia continued.

"I couldn't find any information on Walter's father or a marriage certificate, but I guess Walter's uncle Robert Kemble moved into the house after his sister's death to raise him. He was a military officer, usually gone for months at a time, so I don't imagine the kid saw much of him. There wasn't much documentation on Kemble as a child, though he managed to maintain above average grades in school."

She shifted in her chair, "The next time he made the news was in 1969, when he and four friends stole a lamb from a farmer outside of town, hence the petty theft charge.

They got caught two steps away from slaughtering it, poor thing, and that's when the police found out about the cult. It seems pretty standard really, just some kids messing around with pentagrams, but it made better gossip than it did a police report.

Anyway, the guy didn't press any further charges, so they were released after one night. The real action was in 1985 when Walter was 31. There was a fire at his home and by the time they got it out, there was almost nothing left.

The police suspected arson and found an empty gas can by the guy's car. They were able to lift fingerprints and DNA from the can and the car, and since they matched, the case was determined to be a suicide and not looked into any further. Since then there's no trace of him but a death certificate."

"Did they locate his body?" Prentiss questioned.

"Uh, no, guess the place was too burnt up for them to recover anything. Cops didn't think anyone could have survived. Plus his uncle died the year before-- heart attack-- so there was no one left to care about his remains." Garcia hated it when the Unsubs had horrible childhoods, though this was more often than not the case, since it always made it harder to hate them. Not that it would stop her.

"1985..." Reid began thoughtfully, "The police would have just started using the CODIS system. Especially in Washington."

"That explains why his DNA was on file then," Morgan noted, feeling guilty and avoiding eye contact with Emily.

"What about the other members of that cult?" Emily questioned.

Garcia pulled up their names from the database, "One's a doctor in Michigan, one became an executive for a multi-lateral corporation, the other two are..." She paused, sifting through files, "Dead. Jim Howard died in 1978 of surgery complications and Russell Rendell died two years ago in a boating accident. Led pretty normal lives by the look of it."

"1985 was also when the missing person's reports and unsolved homicides started pouring in," Gideon recalled in a contemplative voice. It was the first thing he had said since they began. "So he fakes his own death and moves out here to start fresh, no one the wiser." He smiled slightly, but there was no humour behind it.

"He probably started the killings in Lynnwood and was just continuing his habit here in Williston all these years," Hotch stated, looking to Gideon, but addressing the room. He turned to Penelope, "Will you look into that Garcia?" She nodded. "Have we come up with any other connections between the victims?"

At this Emily piped up, "Two of them frequented the same hair salon, though almost a decade apart. Other than that the only other relationships between them are unknown. It's likely that a few of them may have visited the same grocery store, the two teens were seen at the same party last year, but apparently they didn't know each other. Deanna and Martina lived within a few blocks of each other, and both had some repair work done on their houses, basement development, electrical wiring, that sort of thing. I am meeting with Deanna's sister today to see if I can't find something else."

Hotch nodded. "That's good. We know he's here somewhere. It's only a matter of time before we get him tracked down, but let's make it fast."

He stood and the rest of the team took the hint to get on with their individual investigations. Once everyone but Derek and Emily had filed out, Garcia began taking down her equipment.

Morgan put a hand on Emily's shoulder to stop her before she left. "Listen Em, about what I said earlier... I didn't mean it, okay? I was just letting off steam. I shouldn't have acted like such a jerk."

Prentiss seemed to have calmed down considerably as well, and silently accepting his apology she stressed in a quiet voice, "I do care."

"I know. We all do." He put an arm over her shoulder and they walked out.


	11. Chapter 11

Running an old comb through his greying hair, he examined his blood-shot eyes critically in the dusty mirror. Hardly noticeable, he was sure.

He sighed, placing the comb back on the counter and worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

The day had barely begun, yet already he had little hope in its success.

The damn blonde just would _not_ cooperate. Honestly, he had thrown her _how many_ bones in the last two days, and given her every chance to redeem herself... God she pissed him off.

Kids today had no sense of respect, always ready to abuse his hospitality.

Well it was for the last time, he decided.

How dare she doubt his determination? True, the FBI could prove a formidable foe, but did she honestly think him incapable of following through with his goals? Had he not proven his seriousness in the matter already? He would find a way.

And then he would make her pay.

Just thinking about her made him angry and he slammed the door on his way out of the bathroom, knowing she would be able to hear the sound resonate through the house.

Donned in an old pair of grey overalls and a casual striped shirt, he couldn't think of any way to make himself more average and inconspicuous looking. This he considered to be a necessary accomplishment, as his next task would require him to be near invisible.

The universe seemed to be working against him as of late. His suspicions of this had been solidly confirmed half an hour earlier, when his boss called and asked him to do some field work since they were short staffed.

This was a rarity in itself, as it was his day off and Gary was usually the type of guy to respect that. But God worked in mysterious ways.

Of course, he and God weren't exactly on the best of terms.

When Gary called he had immediately refused, claimed illness and pleaded to be left alone. However, he could not deny the fact that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity and far too coincidental for him to pass up.

Thus, he would now head over to the lovely agent's hotel once more, as this was where his services were required.

Apparently the cops wanted a professional opinion on the recent hotel power-outage. So he would go, chat, lie, maybe cover his tracks if need be.

Just so long as he didn't get caught.

He was ninety-nine percent certain of his safety in this respect, but there was always that one percent to worry about. He had immediately smelt a lie when Jennifer had warned him of the FBI's progress-- he had been careful not to leave any evidence behind and according to the government, he didn't even exist.

However, he couldn't help but notice that he had been getting a little bit messy as of late, so it couldn't hurt to check the place out and make sure he hadn't missed anything potentially incriminating.

Maybe even see how the case was coming and make sure he stayed two steps ahead of the cops.

He headed down the stairs and into the living room, where Constance was sitting patiently in a blue arm chair.

She looked up at him as he entered, but did not make a sound. He acknowledged her with a forced smile and informed her of his departure as he moved toward the front door and began lacing up his boots.

She told him to be careful and he promised he would not come home empty handed.

* * *

"So how was it last night _Casanova_?"

"The hell are you talking about Mitch?" came Officer James Jordon's somewhat distracted reply as he flipped through the morning paper.

"You know..." The young Officer Mitchell Kalian raised his eyebrows suggestively, turning the cheap plastic chair toward James to monitor his reaction. "Playing hero and protecting the frightened, emotionally vulnerable young waitress for the night."

"Aw, come on man." He put the paper down on his lap. "I was on the job. You know I wouldn't pull that stuff."

"Oh, _yeah_, of course man, not you," Mitch said in mock disbelief. "You can't tell me you didn't at least _think_ about it. Seriously, almost every porno I've ever seen has that exact plot line, it's got to happen in real life once in a while, or where would they get the inspiration?"

"Since when does porn have a plot, smart guy?" he pointed out with amusement.

Mitchell laughed and raised his coffee mug. "Cheers to that!"

Officer Jordon raised his half empty cup in salute as well and the two sat in silence for a moment, watching the electrician mess with some more wires, grab something from a tool chest, and continue inspecting the wiring for an explanation to the power-outage that the investigators may have missed.

Officer Kalian was about to go out of his mind with boredom.

Two and a half hours of babysitting some handyman was wearing him thin.

He couldn't believe his supervisor had sent him to do grunt work; that's what the newbie's were for.

His mind inevitably wandered, "Dude, she was totally hot."

"God," James commented, exasperated, "is that all you ever think about? She was the victim of a violent crime."

"I would hardly consider a _break-in_ to be a violent crime."

"She's got a boyfriend."

"And?"

"She's staying at his house."

"So?"

"He's in the house!"

"Your point?"

"She's got a kid."

At this Mitch paused in consideration. "Good point."

Content with his apparent victory, James continued drinking his coffee and resumed reading the paper in silence.

Mitch spoke up again moments later, "Was the kid in the house?"

James shot him a warning look, "No, _the kid_ is staying with Jane's folks up in Twin Lakes--" They both jumped when the electrician dropped something on the ground, the sound reverberating off the walls of the hotel basement. "You okay man?" James inquired, receiving a polite nod from the guy as he went back to work on the circuit box.

"And it doesn't matter anyway," he said, continuing and turning back toward his young colleague, "_nothing_ is going to happen."

Mitch chuckled disapprovingly, "Well not with that attitude."

* * *

He stuck his left hand in the pocket of his overalls, watching the two cops closely to make sure they didn't see him shaking.

His palms sweated and for a moment he was certain he would drop his tool kit as a result.

He felt as though he were coming out of his skin, his excitement was so intense. He simply could not believe it. He finally found her. She would finally be his.

Perhaps the universe really was on his side. 

_Of course_, he thought triumphantly, it was, after all, his destiny. 

_She_ was his destiny.

Now he and Constance could be together forever-- just as he had always wanted-- without the barriers of time and age. They would have each other for all eternity. He would be healthy again; his youth restored. Everything would be perfect.

The officers were walking casually in front of him, apparently in no big hurry to return to the office.

They were engaged in what he assumed to be yet another lewd conversation, but he was only partially listening.

His breathing was uneven, his heart pounding, his entire body shook and his senses were more acute than he could ever remember them being. Typical adrenaline response, he noted, trying to regain some composure before this physiological response was noticed.

They asked him to come back to the station with them, for only a minute, they assured, just to get the 'big boss' off their backs and provide a statement. No big deal. He could handle this.

Hell, this would be a piece of cake compared to the terror of watching his body rot before his eyes; A terror that he had been exposed to everyday of his human existence, but one that would soon end. All he had to do was get through this and then nothing would be standing in the way.

Well, he pondered, he _would_ have to deal with the woman in his basement.

There always seemed to be a 'woman in the basement' to deal with.

He had no further need for her.

This thought caused a devious grin to spread across his face.

Perhaps it would turn out to be a good day after all.

He'd reclaim his little angel, make the annoying bitch suffer, and Constance... She would be so pleased.

As they turned the corner and found themselves in yet another empty hall on their way through the police station's administration building, he suddenly recognized a familiar voice coming from up ahead.

He saw his opportunity for revenge on Agent Jareau immediately.

He didn't know what exactly he intended to do, but as they reached the end of the hall, and came closer to the source of the voice, he stopped abruptly, and reached down to tie his shoe.

The two officers accompanying him took no notice and continued walking, but from his new vantage point he could clearly see the reflection of the two BAU Agents headed toward him in the glass of the door across the hall.

He knew he could not logically take on the FBI, and his previous threats were, in fact, rather empty, but perhaps he needn't kill them to prove his point.

All he needed was enough evidence to make her _believe_ he had killed them.

How would her precious conscious fare with the weight of their deaths resting on her shoulders? Though he would prefer a finger, or even an ear, to bring back as proof, he knew he needed something less ambiguous and decided he would have to resort to some of the masterful skills he picked up on the street.

He watched as Agent Reid, and a woman he recognized from the photograph as Agent Prentiss, moved towards him, in deep conversation.

The moment Agent Reid turned the corner, he stood, and they collided. The files the young agent had been carrying fell from his hands and scattered to the floor.

"I-I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there," Spencer Reid stuttered and apologized, his face flushed, reaching for some of the files strewn on the ground. Emily Prentiss knelt down to help.

"No, no, it was my fault, I wasn't watching what I was doing," he offered, playing the friendly-handyman and offering an apologetic smile while picking up some of the files as well.

The collision had been a short exchange but offered him ample opportunity to inconspicuously pick-pocket the object he was looking for as he offered the agent a hand up and gave him a polite pat on the arm before they parted ways.

* * *

He couldn't believe his own cleverness.

After lifting _Dr_. Spencer Reid's federally issued badge right from under his nose, (or more specifically, from his inside jacket pocket) he had been feeling even more elated and pleased with himself than ever. It was like taking candy from a baby.

Though he was, not for the first time, somewhat disturbed at what easy targets the BAU had turned out to be.

No wonder the country was in such a state of disrepair, they were letting anybody join the FBI these days.

Upon returning home, he had made a few creative alterations to the good doctor's badge.

Yes, it would most definitely do the trick.

He burned and demolished it just enough so that only Agent Reid's photo and part of his name could be made out.

He didn't want to just kill the woman who had caused him so much stress and aggravation. No. He wanted her to suffer with her last breath. It would serve her right.

He knew he had to leave soon.

Hopefully he could make it to Twin Lakes by three o'clock. That should give him more than enough time to track Jane's parents down and whisk the angel away.

However, before he left he intended to give Agent Jareau her present.

He knew she would love it.

As a finishing touch, he took out his knife and cut lightly across his upper arm, letting the blood drip slowly onto the badge.

He chuckled to himself, rolling his sleeve back down and headed for the basement door.

This would be fun.

He only wished he could stay for the show, but time was of the essence.

He let his boots thump heavily as he went down the steps, wanting her to be anticipating his arrival. He debated whether or not to turn on the light, but quickly decided that it would be in his best interest to do so. He wanted her to see the blood and dirt clearly enough to get the full effect.

When the light flooded the room he could see her huddled in the far corner of the cell, her hair draped over her arms and her head down. She didn't look up but he could tell by her breathing that she was awake.

She held her legs as close to her body as possible, as though trying to disappear into the wall. He sauntered over to the bars.

"Too bad you couldn't have been there Jennifer," he began reminiscently, "it was a blast; But don't worry darling, I saved you a souvenir."

He tossed the black, leather-bound badge through the bars. It landed beside her on the mattress.

She didn't move but he knew she would find it after he left. Without another word he turned and walked nonchalantly away, leaving her to her own imagination and knowing that one's imagination could be the most dangerous place of all.


	12. Chapter 12

J.J waited until she heard the front door slam closed before attempting to move.

She had been in the same position for so long that her legs had fallen asleep. She was loathe to move at all, but her curiosity beseeched her to reach for the tattered dark object that rested at her side.

It was her 'souvenir'.

She didn't know the occasion, but she knew her captor well enough to doubt that she would find in it a cause for celebration.

She stretched out her legs, mercifully allowing blood to circulate through them once more, and brushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

He had left the light on.

She could not be sure of his intentions, but she was grateful to have been released from that crushing darkness, if only for a while.

She stared at the souvenir. It was relatively small, rectangular, thin... Unfortunately, whatever it was, was so damaged that she couldn't tell its function just by looking at it. It was caked in dirt and ash, and looked as though part of it had been burned away.

Not able to resist any longer, she tentatively reached for it.

It was light and fragile in her palm, and as soon as she felt the weight and size of it in her hand, her brain connected the dots and offered her an explanation of its identity.

It was a badge.

She had handled hers so often that her hands automatically recognized it. Perhaps it was hers?

She was just about to open it but stopped abruptly. What if it wasn't hers?

Considering the state of disrepair it was currently in, she could only imagine the state of its owner.

Suddenly she was afraid. Images of all the horrific crime scenes and mutilated bodies she had seen on the job flashed through her head. What had he done? She bit her lip and examined the cover. She had to open it. She had to know.

She peeled it open slowly and the charred cover protested.

Had she not already been holding her breath, it would have caught in her throat when she saw Spencer's name inside.

It couldn't be true.

She attempted to wipe a dark smudge off of the picture to make sure, and slowly his face was revealed to her. She stared at it in disbelief, her mind not able to comprehend.

When she looked down at her hands, she saw that the dark smudge she had wiped away with her thumb had been blood.

She had Spencer's blood on her hands.

He was dead.

He was dead, and it was all her fault.

She shot up suddenly, her breath coming rapidly and she felt as though she would be violently ill. She dropped Spencer's badge as if it were still on fire and pressed herself against the wall. Her head spun from the sudden rush of standing, and her legs were still asleep and tingling.

She was frozen in place for only a moment, before the shock wore off and the anger kicked in.

She lunged at the bars holding her in and screamed as loud as she could manage, praying he would hear her, come back down and open the doors so she could kill him. She wanted nothing more than _his_ blood on her hands. Any blood but Spencer's.

She slammed her fists into the bars repeatedly but no one came and the bars remained as sturdy as they were the first hundred times she tried to break them down.

She continued her assault and screaming until she ran out of fire and held on to the bars as she slid down to her knees.

Her body reached the ground but she felt like she was still falling. Her yelling turned to sobs and she brought her knees close to her again, her back against the cold metal and head in her hands, as she cried for the first time in as long as she could remember.

She should have stopped him. She should never have been so naive. Why had she been so stubborn? She closed her eyes tightly but could see nothing but images of death. Of Spencer and the Team. Oh god. The team...

"...Your agents are not as well-protected as you seem to think. You would be amazed how far a little explosives and some wire can go...But don't worry, I wouldn't want to kill them all at once. Maybe just Agents Morgan, Hotchner and Prentiss...Then I would make the oldest one, Agent Gideon, watch as I tortured the young Agent Reid and let him bleed to death in front of him. And after I had my fun, I would slit the bastard's throat. Then who would come for you Jennifer?"

Had he really followed through? Was it even possible?

"Too bad you couldn't have been there Jennifer, it was a _blast_."

She knew her team was strong, but no one was strong enough to withstand the force of a bomb.

She hated being trapped, unable to see the world-- having no way of knowing if they had survived.

What if they were all dead? Hailey and Jack would be without a husband and father. Who would take care of Spencer's mother now that he was gone? It was all her fault. She could have done something, could have stopped him.

Her body shook violently with every sob. That was why she never dared to cry-- once she started, she would never be able to stop.

No one would come for her now.

She didn't care.

She didn't deserve to be saved.

She looked through watery eyes at the red smear that had now spread down to her palm.

She was going to be sick.

She bolted for the toilet and began dry-heaving. There was simply nothing left in her stomach, and after several minutes of trying to push away the horrific images invading her mind, she crawled back to the thin mattress and curled up in the center of it, clutching the badge to her chest fiercely.

Her head pounded and her entire body throbbed, but she clung to the pain like a life-line.

There was no way out.

* * *

Hours later the sun had begun its descent and J.J was still curled up on her side in the middle if the filthy mattress, facing the wall.

She fingered the ID photograph gently, her movements wistful.

She hadn't noticed how much the job had changed him. He looked so sweet and innocent in the photo. It had only been a couple of years since it was taken, yet he didn't seem to have the same child-like peacefulness about him as he did back then. He was so young; too young for so heavy a burden as the job demanded.

Then again, so was she.

A small sigh escaped her parted lips.

She had cried herself to sleep for a while, but the dreams were haunting.

He kept asking her why she had killed him, imploring her to answer, but she had no answer to give him, only the subtle confession of his blood covering her hands like scarlet gloves.

No matter how hard she tried, her dream-self could not find the words to respond.

To beg his forgiveness.

Even if she could, she knew it would change nothing.

She could never be forgiven.

She had nothing left now. No tears. Nothing.

She felt numb, as though she were watching herself from far away, and this was a perspective she preferred. Numbness was an amiable alternative to the emotional turmoil she had recently been subjected to.

She now fully believed she would die here.

Maybe her body would never be found; her parents never afforded that closure. He would get away with all the murders he committed. Hell, he would probably continue killing innocent women, for years even, until he made a mistake and got caught.

She wasn't so afraid of dying anymore. She had never been particularly interested in church as a child, always preferring to sneak out and play with friends, but she tried to cling to her notions of religion in hopes it would bring her solace-- however empty it may be. Still, no matter what happened in death, it would surely be better than staying here.

Maybe she would see her team again. 

_No_, she dismissed the thought. Only good people went to heaven. Somehow she didn't think she would be invited to the party after causing the deaths of the people she loved. Perhaps justice would be served that way.

She wasn't sure she believed in justice anymore.

Her pursuit of it had led her here. It had led her team-- her adopted family-- to their demise. Maybe justice was a thing only found in Hollywood, where the bad guy was always caught and the good guys rode off in the sunset.

She supposed her fairy tale would not end that way.

Her sun was already setting and the good guys were nowhere to be seen.

The cold was beginning to seep in and the sun had finally fallen beneath the horizon, leaving the weak glow of the florescent bulb to create a false-daylight.

J.J wanted the darkness back.

She shivered involuntarily, hearing the beginnings of another storm outside.

She wished they would have let Spencer smile when his picture was taken. Unfortunately they were forbidden to do so for their federal badge pictures. Damn _protocol_ was preventing her from seeing his smile again.

She lie there in the silence, lost in contemplation and quiet reverie until she heard the hinges of the front entrance upstairs squeak open, followed by the slamming door and a muted shuffling of footsteps.

She acknowledged them, but paid no further attention, instead allowing herself to get lost in the soft hues of light and shadow that fell across the face in the picture.

Many minutes had passed before the footsteps found their way to the basement door.

J.J couldn't be sure how long exactly.

He walked slowly and carefully down the steps and approached the bars.

She couldn't look at him.

Continuing to examine Spencer's picture, she did her best to ignore his presence, but waited expectantly for him to try and drag her back to the table-- or just kill her outright. Instead, as the murderer stalked closer to where she now lie, she felt only a slight dip in the mattress before he turned and left, mindfully locking her in once more.

Only when she heard him close the basement door behind him, and the lock clicked, did she turn over to see what the dip in the mattress had been.

She couldn't believe her eyes and she stopped breathing for a moment from the shock.

The entire case had gotten completely out of control, she had done everything wrong from the beginning, but now, the one thing she was sure she had done right; the one person she had fought so hard to save was lying next to her.

J.J lifted herself up as best she could, her side still aching, and hurriedly checked for a pulse.

She released a relieved breath when she found one.

Peigan was unconscious and motionless, but she was still alive.

Oh god. After all that, he had still managed to find her. She couldn't be more than five or six, and was dressed in a pink _Dora the Explorer_ sweater with matching pants.

J.J was frozen. She didn't know what to do. Now that he had what he was after, he would surely make quick work of ending her misery, but this... Everything was different now.

If she died, Peigan would be left alone with him.

J.J knew that he intended to hurt the girl, how badly... well she could only imagine. If her own situation was anything to judge by, then she suspected Peigan wouldn't have much time left. This... couldn't be happening. The whole thing, the last two days... This simply could not be _real_.

She had been praying to wake up from this nightmare since the beginning, but to no avail. She pressed her fingers against her temples, trying to extinguish the headache.

She had to think. She had to get her out of here, and fast. There just had to be a way.

She couldn't let that bastard hurt the girl.

She wasn't sure she still believed in justice, but she knew that this was not it.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN:** The final (and certainly longest) chapter. I had initially intended to end the story here, but I respect that many of my readers would be very upset if I did so (for good reason). Therefore, if you prefer happy endings, read on to the epilogue/alternate ending. If you do not, stop reading after this chapter. Simple, right?

Enjoy, and thank you for reading this story, I would love to know what you thought of it.

* * *

Gideon watched attentively as the clock ticked slowly onward.

Day three.

He thought back to all the kidnapping cases he had worked over the years and noted with regret how few victims had survived to day three of their abductions.

Jennifer was strong, he had no doubt about that, but he still couldn't shake the fear that all they would recover in this case was a body to be sent home to yet another grief-stricken family. Only this time it would be far more personal. He would be a member of the grief-stricken, they all would.

At the rate this Unsub was progressing... Well, they were officially three days behind him and potentially three days too late.

He turned away from the clock.

He couldn't handle thinking about time right now, even though it was gradually running out. He could only pray that they'd manage to find her before it was too late-- if it wasn't already.

He was about to pick out another file from the multitude of potential past-victims that lay scattered, but no longer forgotten, on the table, when Hotch stormed in.

His demeanour was so tense and his entrance so sudden that everyone in the room stopped abruptly and turned in his direction, as though they could all feel the anxiety radiating from him.

Gideon glanced quickly at the rest of the team and knew they were all nervously anticipating the same news, however vehemently they would refuse to admit it.

They were all waiting for a body to be recovered. For time to run out. Three days in this monster's hands... Things just couldn't get much worse than this.

Hotch demanded abruptly, "My team. Boardroom. _Now_."

No one protested, but they moved faster than Gideon had seen them move in the last twenty-four hours. When they had all filed into the isolated room, Hotch hastily closed the door.

"We have a problem. A _serious_ problem," he lamented, as if they were not already intensely aware of that fact. His movements were erratic as he continued, "I just spoke with Officer Doughty..." he took a deep breath, "Jane Rowland's daughter is missing."

And just like that, everything got worse.

* * *

J.J had been awake for hours by the time Peigan finally stirred.

Her grey-blue eyes opened slowly and J.J kept a bit of distance between them so as not to frighten her. It took several moments for realization to wash into her eyes and fear was not far behind it.

She sat up and looked around confused, her eyes finally landing on J.J. She was obviously terrified and her lip began to quiver so J.J tried to console her. "Shh, it's okay sweetheart, my name is Jennifer, I'm with the police. Everything is going to be okay," she lied.

She knew the girl would be scared when she woke up, but she was by no means prepared for the heavy flow of tears that followed. Peigan wasted no time latching herself around J.J's neck and crying into her shirt. J.J was surprised but tentatively reciprocated the hug and rubbed the girls back comfortingly.

"I...want...my...mommy!" she demanded between sobs.

"Listen, it's Peigan right?" J.J questioned gently after a few minutes, pulling the girl back to look in her eyes.

Peigan nodded.

"Peigan, I'm going to try and get us out of here okay? But you have to promise to do as I say. Do you think you can do that?" She nodded enthusiastically, tear stains still on her cheeks. "Good girl. Now, there's a..." God, how could she put this without scaring her further? "...A very bad man upstairs who's keeping us here."

No, that definitely didn't work. Fresh tears started carving a path down her flushed cheeks.

J.J was panicking now, "No, no, no! Don't cry! We're going to get out of here real soon, but you have to be a big girl and be very brave, okay? Can you do that for me?"

She paused but nodded again.

"Good. That's very good." J.J was somewhat relieved, but still overwhelmed with the unrelenting fear that they were both _royally_ screwed.

Suddenly there was a large _bang_ coming from upstairs, as though furniture was being carelessly tossed around. It continued for several seconds and Peigan clung to J.J again.

She shook ever so slightly and it broke J.J's heart that she had become part of this sociopath's deranged fantasies.

She continued to rub her back gently, fingers getting caught in strands of the child's long blonde hair, "It's okay, I won't let him hurt you."

"Promise?" Peigan whispered innocently.

J.J didn't know if she could really follow through. At most, all she could do was bide time.

She hesitated but knew there was only ever one answer to that question, "I promise."

* * *

He slammed the trunk closed. It was already full. He supposed he would have to be a bit more selective about what he packed from now on. After all, the only space he had left was the back-seat.

He walked back toward the house, barely noticing the overgrown, dead shrubbery that was slowly overtaking the front pathway, but still feeling a pang of sadness that he would soon be abandoning the place he had come to call home for so many years.

There were such good memories in this house... But none of that mattered now.

It would all be over soon.

He tightened his jacket around him, cursing the foul post-storm weather as the cold air sent him into a fit of coughing. 

_Only a little while longer_, he assured himself, pulling the screen door closed behind him and reaching for another box.

As soon as night fell he could escape into the darkness with Peigan.

They'd have to go somewhere remote, of course. They couldn't very well stay here, what with the police on his trail. Missing children did not go as unnoticed by the cops as missing prostitutes, unfortunately.

Either way, he needed sufficient time with the girl.

He would have to move fast.

He tossed an armful of clothes and a few family photos of his mother into the box hastily.

He supposed he would have to lose the agent. She would only be dead-weight now. He had wanted to spend more time with her, but time was of the essence.

As soon as the sun went down, he would get rid of the exasperating woman once and for all.

As long as he and Peigan were on the road by eleven they should reach Manitoba before sunrise.

He lifted the overflowing box with a grunt and kicked open the screen door, accidentally knocking a lamp off the table as he did so.

Constance sauntered through the doorway as he loaded up the car, a mischievous glint in her eye as she watched him appraisingly.

He caught her eye in the side-view mirror and she smiled seductively.

He would follow through as he promised.

They would be together forever.

* * *

Prentiss pulled up a chair next to Garcia, careful not to disturb the mounds of papers and technological devices stacked precariously around her make-shift work space.

"Can you run some names for me?" she asked, handing her a depressingly short list.

Garcia took the paper without looking away from the screen, reaching for her coffee with her other hand as she did so.

Emily watched her worriedly for a moment. She had never seen Penelope look so tense and drawn before. Prentiss couldn't remember Garcia having left her computer since the meeting early this morning.

Garcia glanced at the list in her hands, momentarily meeting Emily's eyes with confusion, "What is this?"

"So far… all we have. These are some of the names that came up when I was sorting through the victimology."

"Only five?"

"The victims didn't have much in common," Prentiss lamented.

Garcia's fingers made quick work of the list and just as Emily was about to stand, the continuous thrum of the keyboard halted suddenly, quieting for the first time in several hours. Emily sat back down promptly. "Did you find something?"

Penelope bit her lip in concentration, typing something into a search engine.

"Charles D. Goldsmyth is on the list of local cancer patients that Derek and Spencer gave me, but nothing showed up on him in the system." Emily leaned closer, watching intently as Garcia's fingers flew across the keyboard with practiced ease. "The internet however, is a completely different story." She pulled up the website of a local electrical company for Emily to see just as the boys came through the door. They had tried to console Peigan's distraught mother enough to carry on with the investigation and find some clues as to where the girl had gone. "It lists him as an employee," Garcia noted.

"Wait. Go back." Prentiss examined the photograph on the screen, her breath catching in realization.

Spencer and Derek came up behind the girls to see what the commotion was about.

"Hey, isn't that the guy we had re-check the wiring?" Reid asked, leaning on the back of Garcia's chair to get a better view.

"The same one that ran into you in the hall yesterday," Emily pointed out.

"Man, you didn't tell me someone ran into you," Morgan sounded frustrated.

"I-I didn't think it was important..."

"Well that solves the mystery of the missing badge then."

"Wait, you think I was pick-pocketed?"

"Hell yeah I do! You should have told me that before we spent a half hour searching the car."

"But I was there less than thirty seconds!"

"Reid, it doesn't take much."

"Hey guys, look at this." Emily pointed towards the screen where Garcia had just run an age-enhancement program on Walter Kemble's picture. The resemblance was uncanny.

"An electrician… That would explain the burn marks, the power-outage at the hotel…" Morgan remarked, waving Hotch and Gideon over.

Gideon wore a reflective expression. "It would also explain how he got into the victims houses without forced entry."

"Garcia, can you get us a location on this guy?" Hotch demanded.

She worked her magic again. "Number thirteen, Riverside Drive. That's just outside of town."

"Only a few miles from Jane Rowland's home," Gideon commented.

Hotch's speech was rushed as the implications fell into place. This was their guy. It was time for action. "Garcia, find everything you can on this guy and keep your phone on. Everyone else, let's move."

* * *

The sun was setting again and she mentally noted another day that had been lost.

At least this time he had left her alone.

This fact in itself made her suspicious. He had what he wanted, what was he waiting for?

She'd listened to the sounds of movement upstairs for hours. He was definitely up to something. He had left a few times but always returned. He was probably waiting until the right moment to make his move, whatever that may be.

Peigan had fallen asleep against her leg over an hour ago and she didn't dare move in fear of waking her. It had taken six vaguely recollected fairy tales, in which she took great literary licence, to get her to calm down enough to stop crying and making herself sick. J.J had even begun to worry that the child would hyperventilate if she didn't stop, thus _Cinderella and the Three Bears_ had come into play.

To be honest, she hoped that she would live long enough to relearn all the children's stories that had gotten lost in her memory. Maybe she would be able to tell them to her own kids one day.

She was sitting with her back against the wall in the far corner of the cell.

J.J was getting tired herself, but refused to allow the insistent pull of sleep to drag her down; not when she needed to be alert and keep her promise.

She had spent hours trying to come up with a plan, but with no weapons, a child at stake, no possibility of outside help and a wide array of injuries to limit her agility, she had yet to successfully formulate a concrete idea.

She would just have to wait for an opportunity.

The light over the table was still on, but the room was growing steadily darker as the sun dropped lower in the sky.

Her eyelids felt extraordinarily heavy and began to drift shut despite her insistence that they remain open.

When the metallic squeak of hinges sounded in the otherwise silent basement, her eyes snapped back open and she felt a shot of adrenaline and fear enter her body.

He was coming back down.

She nudged Peigan awake and put a finger against her lips, wordlessly requesting her silence. Peigan's eyes were wide but she made no sound.

J.J stood as the familiar sound of his steps made their way to her ears, quickly slipping Spencer's badge into her back pocket.

She lifted Peigan with her, and shielded the girl with her body. With Peigan securely behind her, J.J tensely awaited his arrival.

He rounded the corner, taking in her defensive posture with a self-satisfied smirk.

With one hand he reached into his pocket, producing a set of keys, and in the other he held the same knife he had used on her before.

She held her breath as he approached the bars, placing the key in the lock and turning it with an agonizing slowness.

Her mind searched tirelessly for a way out, but found none.

He let the door swing open before he walked carefully toward her.

She couldn't move.

He stopped inches from her face, his eyes glaring into hers and he licked his lips unconsciously. She glared back, determined to maintain a façade of confidence.

Before she could think to retaliate, he shoved her out of the way and she fell to the ground. In the split-second it took for her to regain her balance and pull herself up, he had managed to grab the girl and position his knife against her jugular.

J.J froze and Peigan whimpered.

"Get up," he demanded, voice void of any emotion.

J.J rose slowly and shakily, hands raised in surrender.

"Get back on the table and tie your legs down."

When she made no attempt to move he pulled the girl closer to him, knife pressing harder, and elicited a whine of distress.

J.J took a sharp intake of breath and quickly backed toward the door, her eyes alternately fixed on him and on Peigan. She couldn't believe she was going back to that table willingly, but she could find no other alternative. Not without risking Peigan's life and that was a risk she was unwilling to take.

When she had finally backed into the table she broke eye contact with him for a moment, noticing the blood stains in the wood.

Looking back at Peigan, she took a deep breath and pulled herself onto the table despite the overwhelming protests of her mind and body. If she died now, Peigan would have little hope for survival. However small that hope was, it was the only chance she had left.

J.J prayed that she could at least be buying her some time. Maybe the police would catch up with him and be able to save the kid from this monster.

She pulled at one of the ropes that was looped through a hole at the end of the table, and began to wrap it around one of her ankles. He was watching her closely. "Tighter," he demanded in warning.

She pretended to pull the rope tighter, but let it sit just loose enough that she could undo the knot if she had to. He seemed to have bought her performance and motioned for her to tie down her other leg. When she had done this he brought the knife away from Peigan's throat and calmly walked out of the cell, locking the door behind him and placing the keys back in his pocket.

"Lie down," he instructed, turning toward her. She did not move. "Lie down or I make this harder on her than it needs to be," he threatened.

After a moment's hesitation she obeyed. He tugged on the ropes around her ankles and tightened them with a chuckle, before securing one wrist above her head, leaving the other free. The rope scratched at the area that she rubbed raw the last time she had been tied down.

"Any last words?" he offered.

She had never thought about her last words before; wondered if they really even mattered if no one else would ever hear them. Tilting her head, she could see Peigan watching them from behind the bars with wide eyes.

J.J looked away, feeling as though she had betrayed her, but knowing of no way to reconcile.

"Peigan," J.J began in a whisper, barely loud enough to hear, "close your eyes."

* * *

He was admittedly impressed when the little angel obeyed and rushed way from the bars, crouching in a corner with her hands firmly over her eyes.

Her destiny would present itself soon enough.

He turned back to the agent.

She was refusing to look at him again, instead focusing her attention on the gently swaying light bulb dangling over her.

He imagined it would be hypnotic to watch, but knew she wouldn't be able to ignore him forever. Soon she would be begging and crying and screaming like the rest of them. It was terribly unbecoming really, but he couldn't blame them.

It could be a rough transition.

He brushed the hair out of her face, running his hand down her cheek as he did so.

She turned away from him, closing her eyes, and he smiled. Again he wished he had more time to spend with her, but he had other things to attend to, so he decided to waste no time with pleasantries.

He wrapped his fingers around the unbound wrist that rested across her stomach, and pulled her arm towards him. He ran his hand over the smooth, pale skin of her forearm, relishing in the feel of it and imagining the beautiful contrast he would soon create between the paleness of her skin and the crimson fluid waiting just beneath the surface.

He took his knife and in a swift, practiced motion, dragged it down from her inner elbow to her wrist, just deep enough to produce the contrast he was craving. She cringed and bit her lip, but made no sound.

It was then that he realized her game.

She was trying to appear brave so as not to scare the child.

His grin widened. He would play with her; he would make her scream. He'd win too, he always did.

His blood was rushing through his veins in time with his rapid heartbeat. He ran the knife across her skin again, this time horizontally and deep enough for her blood to flow steadily onto the table, and she gasped involuntarily.

When he looked at her face he noticed that she had bitten her lip hard enough to bleed, and he imagined the warm metallic taste she would have in her mouth from it.

He continued his ministrations, still trying to elicit a verbal response.

By the time he had unbound her other wrist though, he had given up on her.

She was staring at the rafters, but he knew she was not seeing them. He didn't even bother to tie her bloodied wrist back up; she would pose no threat to him now.

The only indication he had that she was still alive were her slow and steady breaths and the occasional, slow blinking of her eyes.

He was pleased by the gentle tears that gravity escorted down the sides of her face to the golden fan of hair spread out beneath her. It wasn't the theatrical response he was looking for, but he supposed it would have to do for now.

He suspected she did not even realize she was crying, as she had a far-off look in her eyes, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.

She didn't even flinch when he cut her again, just continued breathing steadily.

He moved to the end of the table and, watching her closely for a reaction, loosened the ropes holding her ankles and pulled her down the table a few inches to facilitate easier access to her other arm. She didn't notice at all, just kept staring straight ahead.

It was then he knew how far gone she was.

It wouldn't be long now.

* * *

"Morgan, Reid, go around back." Hotch drew out his gun as soon as his feet hit the ground, and he closed the door to the SUV without making a sound. "Everyone spread out."

The house would have looked abandoned if not for the rusted car waiting idly in the driveway, packed with bags and boxes.

The sun had set during the drive out, so everyone had their flashlights at the ready, though Hotch had explicitly instructed that they stay off until further notice. He didn't want to tip the guy off on their locations.

The team and a handful of officers spread out, Emily escorting a small group of police toward what appeared to be the garage, which lay about twenty meters away from the house itself.

Their back-up was on the way, but Aaron didn't want to waste any more time.

Hotch and Gideon took the front door. When everyone was in place, they listened expectantly for any sounds from inside.

The dead silence they found was beyond disconcerting.

Reid and Morgan waited for Hotch to make the first move before circling the house to secure any possible exits and meeting each other at the backdoor.

Hotch signalled to Gideon and both of them pressed against opposite sides of the door, guns ready.

He mouthed his next words, the movement visible only to Jason in the darkness, "_One… Two…_"

* * *

The only real noise in the basement came from the erratic sobs of Peigan as she sat in the corner, tiny hands still covering her eyes.

The agent's eyelids had been gradually drifting closed over the past half hour.

He watched her for a moment, wondering what she was thinking about.

A thunderous boom unexpectedly broke the silence and he dropped the bloodied knife in shock. It clattered to the ground next to the table.

Someone was upstairs.

* * *

Her subconscious silently acknowledged her captor's sudden departure up the stairs, but her consciousness thought nothing of it.

She was dizzy and disoriented but she didn't mind; nothing hurt anymore, there were no fears to plague her mind, no ropes to hold her down.

She paused for a second, her brain struggling to formulate an answer as to why her wrists were no longer bound.

When no conclusion was met, she promptly lost her train of thought, preferring instead to embrace the darkness that was closing in on her.

She started to let her eyes close, but as she did so a bewildering sound reached her ears.

Her sleep-deprived brain beckoned her to ignore it, to give in to the warmth and comfort of a permanent slumber, but part of her kept insisting that there was something she needed to do.

An action to take.

Some unfinished business to deal with.

She sighed, the sound growing stronger as she acknowledged it.

It was familiar, yet it seemed so far away. It took several seconds for her to place a name to the sound; weeping. Someone was crying, sobbing heavily.

Suddenly she remembered where she was, what was happening.

She wished she didn't.

She let her head drop to the side and could vaguely make out Peigan's shape in the corner. Her vision was blurred and the room was spinning. All she wanted to do was turn away and shut her eyes but she found herself unable to do so.

She flexed her wrists, beginning to feel the sting of the cuts there. Peigan was still here. Trapped. Crying. She remembered her promise.

She had let her team down; she couldn't let Peigan down too.

J.J summoned the little strength she had left and shifted her legs. She was struck by surprise when she felt the ropes loosen. She smoothly kicked her legs out of the ropes completely and tried to sit up.

The rush of blood to her head made her immediately fall back down. She lay there silently for a moment, but she could still hear the girl crying.

She had to get up.

She took a deep breath and rolled off the table, not having time to put her hands out to break her fall.

Her body fell with a thud and she felt pain shoot into her shoulder. She groaned and turned over, slowly becoming more alert now that she could again feel the ache of her body.

The floor was ice-cold against her skin. Pulling herself up, she stumbled and walked into the edge of the table.

He would be back soon.

She had to keep moving. _Just keep moving_.

She felt the wood beneath her fingers and used it to pull herself towards the bars. She could barely make out the shapes in the room and it seemed to spin wildly around her. She blinked rapidly, trying to regain her vision. As she approached the cell she could see slightly clearer.

She pulled on the bars and shook them, but it was no use, she needed the key. Peigan looked up suddenly and rushed toward her.

She seemed to be saying something, but J.J could not quite make it out.

The room was spinning too fast and J.J grabbed a hold of the bars to steady herself, the nausea making matters worse.

As she tried to regain her balance her mind seemed to gain more focus and the sensations in the room rushed into her as though someone had just taken her off pause; the light, the pain, the noise.

There was a flurry of movement coming from upstairs.

She brought her hands to her head, trying to stop the headache that had so suddenly taken over. It was then that she noticed the blood.

She looked down at herself in muted terror; there was blood _everywhere_.

Before she could contemplate it further, she heard the basement door fly open.

Without thinking, she rushed over to the long work bench that spanned the wall closest to the stairs, and picked up a thick plank of wood that rested against it.

She could see his boots through a crack in the drywall.

The door clicked as he turned the lock and she could see him wedge a slab of metal across the door frame, effectively blocking her exit.

She took a nervous breath, gathering her strength despite the white-hot, stabbing pains travelling up and down her arms with every heartbeat. J.J was not sure exactly what she planned to do. All she knew was that _he_ had the keys and _she_ needed them.

He turned and made his way back down quickly, taking the stairs in rapid succession.

She counted his steps once more. 

_Eight...Nine... Ten..._ the second his boot reached the last step, she swung the board out and around the corner.

It contacted his head with a satisfying crunch and all his weight collapsed to the stairs with a solid thump.

She couldn't hold on to the board any longer, and let it fall from her shaking hands. She staggered towards him- he was out cold. She doubted that he would stay unconscious for long.

Drawing on her memory, she reached for the keys in his back pocket, having only a bit of trouble pulling them out.

He moaned and her breath caught, but he didn't open his eyes.

Wasting no time, she rushed back to Peigan and searched out the right key. Her hands were so slicked with blood that the keys slipped from her grasp on her first attempt, but she picked them up again quickly.

The lock clicked and the door slid open.

Peigan ran to her, still in tears. J.J knelt down and grabbed her by the shoulders, looking into her eyes even though she still appeared blurry and obscure.

"Stay close to me, okay? If I tell you to run, _don't_ stop." Peigan nodded in agreement. "And," J.J couldn't seem to catch her breath, "if-if I tell you to stay, _do not_ move." Peigan nodded again, eyes wide.

J.J wiped a stray tear from the girl's cheek as she stood, grabbing her hand and leading her swiftly across the basement, toward the outside-access door she had noticed the sunlight coming from before.

She stopped at the stairs leading up and searched through the ring of keys, her hands trembling.

She could still hear movement upstairs.

She unlocked the padlock and ripped at the chains. She heard a soft moan behind her and whipped around in time to see the Unsub begin to stir.

Quickly, she slammed her shoulder into the door, struggling under the weight of it. As soon as it swung open, crashing against the ground above, she rushed Peigan up the stairs.

The cool night air hit her with sudden and unrelenting force as she climbed up the steps, tripping twice.

She could hear voices carried on the breeze.

Maybe help had arrived?

She swallowed, her mouth agonizingly dry.

She didn't know.

They couldn't stay here much longer; he was waking up. It was far more likely that she had completely lost her mind. Nonetheless, she had to know for sure.

She surveyed her surroundings, rapidly taking it all in.

There was a shed of some sort, only about fifty meters away, that was reflecting the moonlight. It stood out like a beacon in the darkness.

She could hardly see anything, but she could still feel Peigan's hand in hers.

She blindly pushed the set of keys into the child's hands and bent down to whisper to her, "Peigan, shh, it's okay. Take these and go hide in there, okay?" she pointed to the eerily luminous tool shed, "Don't leave until I come back for you, I'm going to get us help." J.J's breath was coming in short gasps now, "Run!"

Peigan didn't need to be told twice. It always amazed her how mature children could be when forced into perilous situations. It saddened her too, and she hoped the girl would be able to recover from this.

Of course, she needed to get her to safety first.

She watched as Peigan darted away.

J.J turned, moving forward with her hands stretched out in front of her, trying to feel her way along the side of the house. She hoped she would find herself at the front, but was not entirely sure of her whereabouts.

She heard a foreign voice up ahead and stumbled toward it.

As she turned the corner she noticed a single star glowing brightly in the direction of the field that she was now facing.

Entranced and not knowing what else to do, she moved toward it.

It took a disoriented moment for her to realize that her star was actually the glow of a flashlight.

The light suddenly focused on her and she impulsively shielded her eyes from the brightness.

"J.J?"

Her heart stopped as she recognized the voice.

The bright beam lowered slightly and she gazed upon the one person she had never expected to see again.

Spencer started towards her, but she was motionless with shock and joy and confusion and a thousand other emotions she simply could not name.

Just as she released the breath she didn't know she had been holding, a dark figure dashed into her line of vision.

A shot rang out.

* * *

He was frozen in place.

He didn't know how long it took before he was moving again, placing a trembling hand against the onslaught of blood that was rushing out of his body.

He felt nothing. Time had ceased to exist. He couldn't breathe, but it didn't matter. He couldn't remember how to anyway.

He brought his hand away slowly, looking at the dark liquid for only a moment before the earth seemed to shake under him and his vision slid in and out of focus until he raised his head again.

The woman in front of him seemed to shift and distort until he finally recognized Constance's gentle features and soft lips, her perfect locks of golden hair glowing surreally in the moonlight.

He realized with horror that his knife was now embedded in her tender flesh, but she looked on him with only adoration.

Her lips were moving and he struggled to make out her words.

They came to his ears distorted as though he were underwater, but just hearing her voice was enough to bring a contented sigh to his lips.

"You want that don't you, my love? To be with me forever?"

"Forever," he whispered as the ground rose up to meet him.

She took his hand, leading him into the darkness.

* * *

J.J gasped at the feeling of the blade sliding back out of her as the Unsub dropped to the ground as if in slow motion, taking the knife with him.

She choked and stumbled back a few steps, hands clasped tightly against her stomach.

The blade had cut through the sensitive skin of her abdomen with disturbing ease.

She looked down at her former-captor's body.

He was dead, shot just above his heart, through an artery. It was over. She couldn't believe it.

She also couldn't seem to breathe, only gasp for air.

The pain was just too much for her body to process. Her fingers slowly became numb and her entire body began to tingle ever so slightly. It was uncomfortable and irritating, but after only a few seconds she felt no pain whatsoever.

She looked down at her hands curiously, lifting them away from the wound.

The moonlight made the blood covering them appear black and luminescent.

A wave of exhaustion finally hit her and she fell to her knees, loosing blood rapidly from the open wound.

She couldn't seem to stop herself from falling and she collapsed forward on the ground.

The sounds around her made her vaguely aware that Spencer and Morgan were shouting. She didn't realize how close they were until one of them rolled her over onto her back.

She watched in a silent haze as the two engaged in a frenzied panic; Morgan discarding his bullet-proof vest and quickly sealing his bare hands over the injury.

Their voices were muffled but she caught the occasional curse and repetition of her name.

Spencer was trying to get her attention, calling to her, begging her, running gentle fingers along her cheeks while Derek tried to stop the bleeding. Morgan's gun was beside him and she then knew he had been the one to shoot.

A stray thought made its way into her mind, "Peigan." She had to go back for her. She promised to keep her safe.

"Peigan? J.J, do you know where she is?" Morgan seemed to be speaking slowly, approaching the subject delicately as though he expected her to break at any moment.

She nodded and looked towards the shed, lifting one arm slightly to point in the general direction. "I told her- told her I'd come back for her."

She tried to lift herself up, but Morgan placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, holding her back.

"I'll find her, it's okay," he insisted. She hesitated but nodded, laying her head back down on the soft grass. A few stars dotted the night sky. "Reid, keep pressure on the wound, the ambulance should be here any second. I'll go get the girl." He switched positions with Reid and stood up, glancing a moment at J.J before running off and speaking into his earpiece.

Spencer. He was alive. He was here, leaning over her.

She couldn't remember having ever been so happy in her entire life.

She smiled contentedly, the weight of the world having been lifted off her shoulders.

He wore an intense look of concentration on his face, applying deliberate pressure to stop the bleeding.

She reached out and brushed a hand down the side of his face, checking to make sure he was real.

He was.

She didn't notice the trail of blood her fingers had left on his cheek.

He gave her the most adorably confused look. "J.J, why are you smiling?" he asked in a choked voice. It was too dark for her to see the tears he was unsuccessfully trying to hold back. Her rapture only deepened at the melodic sound of his voice. She had missed him.

"I love you so much," she admitted in a whisper, smile still dancing lightly on her lips. She winced as she felt a twinge of pain shoot through her body.

She couldn't understand why, but this seemed to be the breaking point for Spencer and his expression turned to one of anguish.

He started begging again. Pleading with her and promising the world if only she would just stay with him, hold on to his voice.

Her smile deepened, of course she would stay with him; he didn't even have to ask. She knew he would follow through with his promises.

She tried to concentrate on his voice as he requested, but found it to be drifting further and further away from her until she could hear nothing but the slow drum of her heartbeat.

There was a rustling all around her, people coming closer, but she was no longer afraid. She felt exquisitely safe and so very, very tired.

The feel of Spencer's hands on her was better than any fairytale. Despite the chill of the air and the dampness of the earth, she felt inexpressibly warm and light.

Sleep pulled at the corners of her mind until finally, she let her eyes drift closed.


	14. Epilogue

**AN:** The end! I hope you were entertained. //hands out cookies to readers//

* * *

Parallel slivers of light slipped through the dusty blinds and the steady sound of a heart monitor slowly ushered her back to reality.

A pristine white curtain surrounded her on two sides. For a moment, before her eyes adjusted to the intensity and her mind had fully pried its way out of the dream world, she was afraid she would find herself still tied to the wooden table.

She took in her surroundings slowly, bewildered and disoriented.

All residual fear and confusion left her however, when she glanced down to see Spencer Reid asleep at her bedside.

His presence brought a sigh of relief to her lips. He was slumped in a chair, his head resting on the cushion of mattress beneath her, and one of his hands was tenderly entwined with her own.

She shifted slightly, her physical awareness returning with a vengeance, and he bolted awake. His eyes met hers and realization dawned in them.

"J.J." He gave so many levels of meaning to the simple statement that she found herself lost in the hazel depths of his eyes and completely unwilling to find her way out. "You're awake. I-I should get a doctor!" He rose suddenly and a rush of irrational fear filled her.

"No," her voice was so hoarse that it felt foreign in her throat, but she continued, not wanting to be left alone, "please stay."

He froze but after a moment's hesitation he nodded and sat back down, taking her hand again. Everything was so different from how she had left it. It didn't take her FBI skills to figure out that she was in a hospital, but how she had gotten from the confines of a filthy cellar to the disconcerting sterility of a hospital bed, she couldn't say.

"Spence, what happened? How did I get here?"

He looked nervous and his hair was dishevelled from his sleep.

"Well," She could tell he was struggling to formulate the right words, "you lost a lot of blood J.J. We-we weren't sure you'd make it for a minute there." He paused, as though finally admitting his darkest secret to himself and taking a moment to absorb it. "_I_ wasn't sure you'd make it." He broke eye contact with her. "The ambulance came just after you passed out. They-they couldn't get you to respond but they gave you a transfusion anyway. The EMS didn't have quite enough blood available for you, so it was lucky that Hotch was there, turns out he's O negative too."

She waited for him to expand upon his words with medical facts and statistics, but when he didn't, she finally noticed how tired and worn he looked.

She suddenly remembered having only seen Spencer and Derek before falling into unconsciousness. She had no idea if the others were safe, or if her former captor had indeed followed through with his threats. "Hotch was there? He's okay?"

Spencer looked confused, but answered her, "Yeah. Yeah he's fine." She relaxed back into the pillows. A brief flash of understanding appeared on his face and he drew something out of his jacket, "One of the nurses found this in your pocket when they brought you in." He handed her his mutilated badge and this time it was her turn to avoid eye contact as she ran a finger across the familiar picture inside. She knew he knew. "J.J, don't you think I should find the doctor, I--"

"And everyone else?" she interrupted urgently. "Gideon and Emily?"

"They're fine too. We've been taking turns staying with you."

"The Unsub?"

"He's dead."

"Peigan?"

"She's safe now. Back with her mom. She said you saved her life. Oh, and she uh, made you this." He grabbed a paper off a nearby table and handed it to her. Colourful finger-paints filled the page.

Knowing that everyone was safe, she felt as though she could finally breathe again. Looking around, she noticed for the first time a multitude of cards and flowers filling every surface in the tiny room.

She spotted a giant stuffed bear to her right.

Noticing the direction of her gaze, he chuckled softly, "Garcia brought that in."

A smile touched the corners of his lips and it quickly spread to her own.

* * *

The day was slightly overcast, lending a welcomed serenity to the city.

The leaves had just begun to submit to the coming autumn, and they filled the chilly air with the sweet aroma of their natural death and rebirth.

It seemed fitting that today should be marked by her return home.

She had adamantly requested that the day be spent outside, and who was he to deny her anything? It had been a couple weeks now, since they found her in a bloodied and broken mess, but he knew it would take some time before she would feel comfortable again in closed spaces.

Still, he was not opposed to selfishly enjoying her new found affection for the outdoors and her general enthusiasm for life.

They treaded through the park paths for a while before coming to a secluded bridge a few miles from the river. Ancient leaves, that had never quite relinquished their right to existence, crunched under their shoes.

She wore white gloves to match her overcoat, and her left hand was enveloped by his right. She was smiling and he was sure it would be enough to compensate for the lack of sunlight filtering through the clouds.

She pulled him toward the edge of the bridge with her, and leaned carefully against the rail, not putting too much pressure on her abdomen. He admired her as she stared with child-like fascination at the rushing waters below.

He couldn't help but contemplate the scars that lay hidden just beneath the veil of her coat. He loved her scars. They had become a symbol to him now of her passion, her survival. They were beautiful and so was she, even if she would blush and change the subject whenever he reminded her. He resolved to appreciate them properly later tonight when they were surrounded by the privacy of his apartment.

When he gently placed a hand on the small of her back, she surprised him by turning away from the water suddenly and capturing his lips with hers.

Only a few moments more were spent on the bridge before they continued on, walking leisurely together down the road less travelled.


End file.
